Balance of Power
by Crackbunny Syndrome
Summary: Time travel. Conspiracy theories. Leylines. Pop culture crack and bad movie references. Hackers, ghost hunters and detectives, oh my! When crossing the gate, be sure to look both ways. Post series.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Arc One**

"**Balance of Power"**

**Central City, Amestris - 1915**

_Gracia_!

He froze. It was a stupid mistake. He knew it instantly. He knew that wasn't Gracia. He'd seen what that homunculus was capable of doing when it posed as Ross. Knew the arrogance of the creature when it flaunted its ability to change shape right in front of him.

But he cut its throat and thought it was dead.

Then he heard Gracia's voice behind him and he spun. And he froze.

He felt the searing pain in his right side before he heard the retort. He cursed himself for freezing as his chest grew tight and his breathing became strained. He felt the blood burble up and cling, hot and bitter, to his tongue, his lips, with each labored gasp. His world went black before he hit the ground.

He never even had the chance to say good-bye to his girls.

Flashes. Snapshots of moments; jumbled and out of focus. _They know my wife and daughter._ The sense of being cradled in his father's arms when he was so very small. Held close while the rest of the world shook and pounded. _They're targets now. My girls are targets._ The burn in the back of his throat and the exquisite pain in his side when he retched. A pool of black splattering the sea of blue that wavered in his brief view. "I'm dead, Major. I'm dead." Surrounded by white. The smell of antiseptic. Urgent voices shouting in his ears. A sense of drowning. Black, warm, silence.

When Maes Hughes knew anything again, nearly a week had passed with him in a civilian hospital. Major Armstrong had found him near death by the phonebooth and literally carried him in his arms to the closest hospital. He almost didn't make it in time.

The giant alchemist was loyal to a fault. When Hughes told him he was dead, the Major made sure the rest of the world at large knew he was dead. He hated making the man do that. He imagined the big, soft-hearted man had cried at his funeral and anyone who saw him would think it was open, honest grief. Hughes knew it would be honest emotion, but not that. He knew Armstrong hated what he'd been ordered to do, and felt the pain of the people attending who believed the body of a beloved comrade, lover, friend, husband, father was inside.

He hated the idea of not kissing his daughter good night, or holding his wife again.

He had no choice.

A cancer had grown through the military and if he was still alive now… with what he knew… Gracia and Elysia would be targets.

But being dead did have its advantages…

…Most people don't believe in ghosts, after all.

0o0o0

**Germany - 1925**

The research labs were in shambles. Most of the equipment was now either unrecognizable, or just completely useless. Fortunately, no one was killed in the gleeful destruction of the data and the buildings. The majority of the people were civilian scientists and not trained to fight. It was much easier to just drop everything and run when the two young alchemists charged in. Especially when they caught a glimpse of the older one's eyes.

Edward Elric could do psychotic very well.

It often came in handy for clearing non-combatants out of a room in a hurry, but the younger brother occasionally wondered just where it came from. Alphonse figured that it was better he didn't know.

Ed skidded to a stop at a junction in the maze of corridors, and slammed back against a wall. As Al caught up, the older Elric cautiously peeked around the corner to see if it was clear. "Which way?" he asked.

"To the left."

As soon as they were certain it was safe, they turned left, and continued running. There was one last thing they needed to do before they could call it good. "Time?" Ed called over his shoulder.

"Thirty seconds, Brother," Al said, the slight waver in his voice betraying just how scared he was.

The research for the uranium bomb was destroyed. Set back at least fifteen years, and hopefully longer than that. But there was a complete ordinance to be tested. If they didn't stop that, it would have all been in vain.

Al didn't argue the necessity of destroying the research. And learning that Father was wrong about how alchemy was powered on this side certainly made the mission so much simpler. But, damnit! Did Brother have to go to such extremes? It wasted precious time that could have been better spent getting themselves across the enormous compound to the test site. Now they only had thirty seconds… correction. "Twenty-five seconds," Al called out.

They'd reached the end of the corridor. Ed didn't bother to see if the doors were locked. He just landed a solid, automail kick to the latch and charged in…

…To find the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his head.

Instead of being afraid, Ed was pissed. He lunged at the assailant and shouted, "Are you out of your goddamned mind?"

The sound of several guns being primed to fire surrounded the brothers. Four more soldiers had been waiting.

Ed looked around, appalled. "You people are insane! That bomb is about to go off, and we'll all be dead."

Alphonse recognized the first gunman. Dr. Otto Wermier, the head of the research on this uranium bomb. He'd only seen the man a couple of times in the newspaper, and had always thought him cold and scary-looking. The Doctor smiled down at Edward, and Alphonse shivered.

"Yes, we'll die here. But the data from that bomb will be useful, and the development will continue. A few minor deaths are worth it," Wermier said.

"F-fifteen seconds, B-brother," Al said, as his eyes shifted from one gunman to another.

Edward growled. "I don't have time for this!"

He clapped, and brushed his hand across automail. In an instant four of the five had their guns neatly sliced off at the base of the barrels, and felt the impact of an automail fist or foot immediately after.

Unfortunately, Wermier had anticipated Ed's action and lurched out of the way. Quickly, Ed came up and swung a foot at the Doctor's gun hand. There was a sickening crunch of shattered bone, and the gun fell to the floor. Alphonse took the distraction and dashed past to the bomb sitting in the center of a makeshift platform.

In the struggle between the Doctor and his brother, Al was slammed into and sent sailing across the platform. He rolled into the bomb and sent it spinning away from him. He scrambled on hands and knees across the platform trying desperately to catch the sphere-shaped object, but it continued to elude his grip.

It stopped spinning right at the edge of the platform, and tottered. Alphonse's eyes went wide, and his breath hitched in his throat as he cautiously crept closer to the sphere; silently praying that nothing else jostled the platform and send the bomb careening to the floor.

_Time, time… how much time is left?_ Al couldn't remember.

He reached for it; had it almost within his grasp, when he felt the platform shake. With a wordless shout, he gave up on caution, and lunged for the bomb.

_Got it! _He thought as he hugged it close to his chest. It amazed him that something so small would be able to cause so much devastation. And weigh so damn much! He could barely drag it away from the edge of the platform as he dug the hand-drawn array from his pocket and get it placed on the platform one-handed. Getting the bomb on top of the array without scrunching up the paper was a different matter altogether, and Al was silently cursing the inability to just clap his hands and do what he needed to.

He laid his hands on the case, and took a deep breath. He mentally went through the process of decay for the isotope U-235. He mentally flipped through his notes for information. _Transmute U-235 to U-238_, he thought_. It's like changing water to heavier water. Transmute again to Radon-222. A noble gas. Not as deadly. Radon decays faster. Have to take it down in stages, or it'll blow anyway._

The platform was hit again. Al was unbalanced and fell into the bomb, slamming his teeth hard into his tongue. "Dammit, Brother," he snapped; nervous, scared, and irritated. "Quit playing with him, and immobilize him already!"

He got back up on his knees, and made sure the bomb was sitting stable on the base, and laid his hands on the case again. In his mind's eye, he could see the alchemic reaction as the isotope shifted from Uranium-235, to the more stable Uranium-238. Under his hands, he could feel the case surrounding the isotope shift as well. A barely noticeable change came over the case, as it shivered, and buckled.

But the case continued to hold. Alphonse didn't have time to worry about the particulars. U-238 was still a dangerous element. He needed to transmute it again. Accelerate the decay of the U-238 to Radon.

He added more energy to the transmutation, to speed the decay. There was no time left before the trigger sparked the chain reaction of splitting atoms.

As he concentrated, he felt a snap. A weakening of the case walls. A crack forming at the base…

…Where the heavy noble gas would settle.

His eyes snapped open, and he was instantly in motion. He leapt off the platform and snagged his brother by the collar as he dashed past.

"It's gonna blow!" Al said, and dragged Ed with him. There was nothing to be done about Dr. Wermier, now. They had to get away from that bomb before they were killed.

They made it as far as the doors when they were hit in the back by the shockwave and the sound of an explosion that was so loud it couldn't be heard.


	2. 1 Mechanical Monsters, Unexpected Guests

**Balance of Power**

**Chapter One**

"**Mechanical Monsters and Unexpected Guests"**

**April 23, 2006 - 10:57pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

It was one of those nights Mary Reilly lived for. Dark, stormy… exciting. It was her favorite time of the year --late spring-- when the world finally woke up and was filled with bright potential. That there was a tornado warning in the area and her electricity had just gone out only made it more enjoyable.

She'd been expecting this all day; felt a tightening in her belly as the atmosphere built up the energy to be released in a violent display of lightning, hail, and lashing winds. It was perfect weather for wonderful and unusual things to happen, and she was hoping that something would.

Of course, Reilly never made any claims to aspirations of normalcy, either.

She felt around the junk drawer for a flashlight, humming to herself as she did. Nearby, a big pot of gumbo simmered on the ancient gas stove, filling the small farmhouse with the rich aroma. The low flame below the pot helped warm the kitchen, but did little to chase away the darkness and the shadows.

Lightning flashed outside the kitchen window, just as the zaftig woman grasped something hard and cylindrical. She laughed maniacally, and pulled it free from the tangle of wires, string, and various other items that had long ago lost their identity. She spun, victorious, and pressed the switch. Glorious light erupted from one end, casting her in a semi-sinister light from underneath. The tangle of unruly, mousy-brown hair that had fallen in her face only added to the image of insanity.

An older man with a silver ponytail and always observing eyes was leaning casually against the door frame between the living room and kitchen, watching the display with mild amusement. Reilly pointed the light at him, and he raised a hand to block the glare.

"Hah! It's alive! It's aliiiive!" she cackled.

The next instant, the light sputtered, and went out. Reilly sagged and looked at it as though she'd been personally insulted. "Oh poo!"

The older man flicked his lighter and turned to head back in the main room. "You're nuts, you know that?" he said.

"I love you too, Tom," she called after him and went back to digging in the junk drawer. She was fairly certain she'd bought extra batteries for that light not too long ago. Or maybe she meant to. She couldn't remember. But at least she was hopeful and that was what mattered. That, and finding the batteries.

A moment later Tom returned wrapped in a warm glow. He set a small, round, glass bowl with a lit candle on the counter next to her. "You know, this would work just as well."

She huffed exaggeratedly. "Yeah, but it wouldn't be half as much fun."

Tom leaned back against the counter and regarded her a moment. "You should move back to civilization."

Reilly cocked a brow at him. "I live two miles outside the city limits, I'd hardly call that the sticks."

"You live two miles outside of Bartlesville. It's the sticks. Come back to Tulsa."

She stared out the kitchen window. "You know why I won't do that, Tom."

Tom looked down, and nodded. "Yeah." Then he faced her and smiled warmly. "But you could at least find someplace better than this…" He waved his hands about expansively. "…dump."

She balled her fists and jammed them into her hips. "Hey! It's not a dump! It's a fixer-upper. And I grew up here!" She wagged a finger under his nose and said, "Don't be dissin' on my childhood home, old man!"

He gave her a bemused look and shook his head. Lightning crashed noisily just outside the window, causing Reilly to jump and squeak. She dropped the flashlight in the sink and heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. "Shit! That was close," she said and stared out the window as the flickering of light faded slowly.

"I thought you liked spring stor—Ow!" Tom said.

Reilly was suddenly gripping his arm like a vise, shock and fear playing across her face. She was still facing the window, but her eyes were staring blindly. Tom waved a hand in front of her face, but she didn't even blink.

"Damn," he whispered, and gripped the shoulder furthest from him. He gently turned her to him and shook her lightly. "Reilly," he called softly.

She suddenly blinked, but the fear remained. "Tom, you have one of those fluorescent lights in your car, don't you?"

"Yeah." Concern knitted his brows. "What did you see?"

She swallowed. "There's someone in the back yard, and he's hurt."

0o0o0

**11:12 pm**

**North Sedgwick County, Kansas**

Rain was the first thing he felt as he came to. Sharp, torrential rain that beat against his cheek, which had gone chill from the elements.

The boy shook his head as he tried to stand up, sharp rocks biting both the palms of his hands and his knees as he got into a crouching position, one hand shoving back his bangs as he tried to get a feel for where he was.

The rain wasn't helping any in that regard.

Shakily, he stood up, trying to clear his vision enough so that he could find shelter. The rain didn't appear to be letting up anytime soon, and he felt drenched to the skin in addition to aching everywhere.

"Brother!" he called, voice hoarse with chill. It sounded drowned to his ears. "Brother! Where are you?"

He stumbled onto a harder surface as he called for his brother; a solid stream of gloss black under the rain beating upon the earth. A flash of lightning startled him, and the boy turned around sharply at the bright light…

…and saw two more lights heading straight for him.

He couldn't think. His legs seemed not to obey the order to 'run' and his body worked on another instinct. Hands came together in a sharp clap and knees too weak to stay unbent buckled, as he tried to get his hands to the ground to protect himself.

The bright blue light of the incomplete reaction matched another lightning bolt as the vehicle plowed into him.

0o0o0

**11:17pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Reilly's 'back yard' was approximately 20 acres of scrub, weeds and one lone pond that only supported mosquitoes in the summer. This meant that finding someone there would normally be an exercise in futility in this weather.

Not for Reilly.

Tom held onto the passenger-side door-handle for dear life as Reilly didn't so much drive, but aimed the battered old truck in a straight line toward one corner of the property. He'd long ago given up on trying to come to any logical explanation for the sporadic 'fits' his friend had. It was just the aura of strangeness that was Reilly. He wasn't sure if he held the same beliefs she did, but he couldn't deny what he'd seen happen around her. Thus he allowed himself to be frequently dragged along with her for bizarre reasons… like now.

She fish-tailed the truck to a sliding stop and Tom gripped the door-handle tighter. "Easy there! You don't want to kill your victim before you find him."

"Already found him," she said absently as she jumped out of the cab of the truck.

"That was quick," he mumbled. He powered up the light, gave a rueful look to the torrential rain, and followed her.

When he caught up, she was already kneeling down in a deepening puddle of chilly water and mud laying her fingers at the throat of a small, fine-boned male. Her clothes were already soaked through and clinging to her in the downpour; and they'd only gone 20 feet from the truck.

Tom couldn't tell how old the boy was; he appeared to be quite young with his delicate features and the long, blonde hair plastered to his face. He looked to be dressed a little too well for the weather and the area. White shirt, vest, jacket, and… gloves.

"Well, he's alive at least," Reilly said.

Even with the bright fluorescent light and the headlights, it was hard to tell if he had any serious injuries. Blood and mud looked the same in the uncertain light, and he was in a low spot which was rapidly filling with water. There wasn't time to leave him lay on the off-hand chance he had a back injury while they called an ambulance. They needed to take the risk and get him inside quickly.

Tom scooped the boy up and started to get back to his feet, but immediately came back down. "Damn," he said. "Kid's heavier than he looks."

"Need some help?"

Tom shook his head, and came back to his feet. "Just wasn't expecting it, is all."

0o0o0

Once back in the house, Tom laid the boy down on the floor, and started stripping off wet clothes as far as dignity would allow. Reilly had her back to them, trying to get a tone to call for help. Not for the first time, she cursed the dead-zone her house was in that kept her from getting a cellphone signal.

She knew it might be a mistake. Her gut told her calling the authorities, even an ambulance, would be a very bad idea. The boy was dressed wrong. Out of time. But she also wasn't about to let him die and she was afraid that he might be hurt worse than her quick once-over in the dark and pouring rain indicated.

Tom made a sudden choking noise, then gasped out, "Put down the phone, Reilly."

She spun to see the boy sitting up and his hand at Tom's throat… his _metal_ hand. She noticed that the grip was loose, but ready to squeeze again just in case. The boy looked from her, then back to Tom. The older man slowly raised his hands with the palms spread. Then the boy's expression changed from aggressive, to fearful. He quickly dropped his hand and tried to scramble back. He uttered something in a foreign language that sounded vaguely familiar and Reilly said to Tom, "That sounded German."

Tom shook his head, but his eyes never left the boy. "Not any dialect I'm familiar with."

"So try anyway? He might understand."

Tom scowled and shot her a dirty look. "You know how rusty I am?"

She gave him a look that brooked no argument, and he sighed. "Alright, alright." He faced the boy again, and asked, "Wie heißen Sie?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of the boy's lips. "Ich heiße Edward Elric."

"I think we can safely say that he didn't bump his head too hard," Reilly said.

"Woher kamen Sie?" Tom asked.

Edward scowled, and tapped his forehead. Reilly couldn't tell if he was having trouble understanding what Tom had said, or if he couldn't remember where he was from.

Haltingly, he said, "I... Ich kann nicht mich erinnern."

Tom sighed, sat back on his heels and looked up at Reilly. She barely noticed, because she was trapped by the stricken look in the boy's lion-gold eyes. "What did he say?" she asked.

"I just asked him if he remembered where he came from, and he said he didn't," Tom said. "I think there's some trauma here, but I don't think it's physical."

"Should we get him to the hospital?"

Tom shook his head, a grim line setting his lips. "Something in my gut tells me no. Besides, he's not hurt that badly." He nodded toward the boy's metal hand. "I don't know about you, but I've never seen anything quite like that."

Reilly knelt on the boy's other side, and cautiously reached for his head. When he flinched and pulled back, she said to Tom, "Can you tell him I'm just checking for a head injury?"

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the boy. "I speak Amestri-- _English_," he said with a scowl. He gave them an apologetic look, and added, "I was a little…" He paused like he was searching for the right word. "…disoriented. Sorry."

Then he faced Tom and smirked. "Your German is horrible."

Tom chuckled. "That's what I tried to tell her, but do you think she'd listen to me? Nooooo."

She snorted as she leaned forward to reach around the back of Edward's head. His eyes went wide and she felt him heating up. "Does this hurt?" she asked.

"Uh, Reilly?" Tom said.

As she felt for any bumps on the back of the boy's head, she cast a glance at her friend. The look he was giving her was somewhere between humor and embarrassment, and she cocked a brow at him.

"You might want to change into some dry clothes, there," he said, mildly.

She looked down at herself and felt her face heat up. The long cotton shift she wore was soaked through and clinging to her like a second skin. Her overly generous chest was also practically in the boy's face. She lurched back as though burned and stammered wordlessly.

The boy turned away and looked around at anything but her.

Reilly quickly scrambled to her feet. "You left some sweats here last time you stayed over," she said to Tom. "You don't mind sharing, do you?"

Tom shook his head and got to his own feet. "There should be a few other things, too."

"Yeah, I figure it's about half your wardrobe," she shot over her shoulder as she headed into the hallway. "You'd think you practically live here."

"Heaven forbid," he said.

At the questioning look Edward gave him, Tom said, "Reilly's scary."

"I heard that!" she called from the hallway.

0o0o0

**11:50pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

"What's the patient's condition?"

He'd been lapsing in and out of complete consciousness for awhile now.

_He'd awakened in the rain again, the pounding of the drops on his head echoing the painful rhythm inside his skull. His arm had felt like the inside was on fire, and the rough scrape of rock on rock heralded his attempts to move._

"Unconscious hit and run victim, found outside of town. Heartbeat's stable but fast. Concussion, scalp wound, broken left arm, various shrapnel injuries, possible puncture of the right ulnar artery; it was too dirty to see, but it's still bleeding. It also looks like he was in the elements for awhile; kid was entirely soaked when we found him, and had been for awhile."

_His next complete thought came when he heard tires screeching on the pavement next to him; a difficult feat, with all the rain. Some woman had called to him, and he had tried to call back. She had held something to her ear, talking to no one as she checked him over. Tying a cloth around his arm (It was bleeding? Odd, he couldn't feel it), she had kept his head still, trying to elevate the top half of his body. He'd hissed, and gone to half-conscious reality once more._

"Get two units of blood in him, fast. We need to type him..."

_He'd come awake again as he'd been shoved into the back of something, the scent of medical supplies and something synthetic hitting his nose as he heard doors shut. People in uniform hurried around him, trying to get him to talk as they checked him over, staunching wounds and trying to patch him up. He wasn't quite sure of the language, but it sounded familiar... It almost sounded like home..._

The boy wavered in and out of lucidity as people hurried about him, yelling things like "CCs" and "trauma". One person drew what felt like a pen up his foot; he tried to jerk the offended member away with a not-entirely-audible mumbling of "tickles…"

"Patient's alert; try and talk to him." Someone else opened one of his eyes to shine a light in it, and he groaned quietly, the eye remaining open as she checked his other one.

"The pupils aren't equal. Definitely a concussion, looks to be Grade two."

The person speaking, a woman, leaned over him. "Can you tell me your name, kid?"

He winced. "W... wo?" he whispered, eyes closing against the bright light being shined in them.

"You're in the emergency room, kid. Park City Medical. What's your name?"

Even in his state, he was confused. Park City? He'd never heard of it. Where was he?

"Wo... where..."

The woman held his right hand carefully. "You're in Wichita, Kansas, kid. Who're your parents?"

The name made him panic. He wasn't anywhere near Germany anymore. The things around him started beeping faster, as though they could tell his heart was threatening to pound out of his chest.

"Shit, he's going into shock!"

"Calm down, kid! You need to stay awake for me!"

As the boy's eyes drifted shut again, slipping out of pain-hazed reality, he heard something from the corner of the room. "I'd never seen anything like that road, man... like it started melting up to protect him..."

0o0o0

**April 24, 2006 – 12:01am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Ed sat on the side of the tub in the light of an oil lamp, working the towel into the creases and crevasses of his automail. In the privacy afforded him in the small, cluttered room, he attempted to take inventory and assess the current situation he was stuck in. From what he could ascertain so far, there were several 'Big Problems' he needed to deal with.

He had no idea where Al was. That was the first big problem. The last thing he remembered was his younger brother dragging him away from Wermier and saying the bomb was going to blow. Next thing he knew, he was chilled to the bone, soaking wet, and staring in the very unfamiliar face of an old man. Which led to the second big problem: where the hell was he?

Or perhaps _when_ would be the better question.

He hung the towel on the bar on the wall, and his wet clothes over the shower rod. As he dressed, he suppressed the urge to grumble at the length of the sweatpants and the sleeves of the warm, fleece shirt. They were warm and dry, and very soft; and that was a damn sight better than being a drowned rat.

He could hear the couple talking through the walls and had been trying to listen in, but the voices were low and muffled. No information to be had by eavesdropping, then. And that was the third big problem. He had no idea if these people were dangerous or not. He had a feeling they weren't, but he had no idea just how far he could trust them either.

He took a moment to snoop around the small bathroom. Things he couldn't identify were plugged into the wall. That meant electricity; it was just out from the storm. At least they weren't living in the dark ages.

One object resting on the counter got his attention. It looked like a huge gun, but when he cautiously picked it up, it was made of a slick material he couldn't identify and was lightweight. The handle had ridges and valleys for the grip, and buttons. There were wires criss-crossing the opening, and it looked like it had a motor, but nothing, not even the writing on the side told him what it was. Except that it was 1500 watts.

He didn't care to contemplate what the fat, cylindrical object sitting next to the gun-shaped one was.

There was one pristine spot amid all the clutter, though. On a small shelf over the back of the toilet sat a small statue of a woman with many arms. His curiosity got the better of him and he looked closer. Several small sticks poked out of the bowl filled with fine gravel next to her; and from the smell coming from it, he guessed the sticks held incense of a sort. Of the statue, the details he could pick out in the uncertain light gave him the impression that this was a Goddess of a sort and she appeared to be Xingese.

The incense had a basis in logic; it was a bathroom after all. He wondered about the statue, though. Was it just for decoration, or was there a religious significance? And if religious, how does someone who is clearly Anglo-Saxon come to practice a Xing religion? The most important thing, in his mind, was the realization that this was just one more thing that seemed to transcend the boundaries of worlds. It might make for some interesting study if he ever decided to bother.

Ed sighed and opened the door. He figured he'd eventually find out and he couldn't stay hiding in the bathroom forever.

He froze when he heard the man say, "You still have that gun where you can get to it quick?"

"Well, yeah," the woman said, sarcastically.

"Is it loaded, though?"

"You worry too much, Tom."

"You don't worry enough, Reilly."

_Okay, I at least have names,_ he thought. _That's a start. And a gun is in the house. Can't blame them, though; it just means I need to be careful._

He attempted to tread softly on the wood floor, but the automail leg made a light step all but impossible. It didn't help when it also landed on a metal grate in the center of the hall floor, and made an audible clank.

He winced and glanced down. He could see the pale, barely-there blue glow of a pilot light. _Furnace,_ he realized. Another tidbit of information that might tell him where and when he was. Unfortunately, it also alerted his benefactors to the fact he was no longer in the bathroom.

"Edward?" Reilly called curiously. "We're in the kitchen, hon."

_Hon?_

He heard the clatter of dishes being set on the counter, and the sound of a lid being taken off a pot as he crept through the main room. He watched his step as he wove around large furniture, books stacked all about, and a desk with what looked like a picture frame on a stand in the middle of it. It caught his attention not so much because of the odd place for it as what was in it… which was nothing. He looked around the room and wondered. There were prints and photographs covering the walls; so why would someone have a huge frame that dominated a desk and nothing in it?

He saw what looked like a typewriter in front of it, but it was flat and had no place to put any paper. It just had the keys crammed close together. At least he could recognize some of the keys, anyway.

"Gumbo's ready," Tom said.

Ed sniffed. The response of his stomach was instantaneous… and loud. Whatever _gumbo_ was, it smelled wonderful.

He came around the corner and stopped short. Reilly was sitting at the table and her face was cast in a cold, unearthly glow unlike the warmth of the candles and oil lamps scattered around the place. She looked up, smiled, and closed the thin case she had open in front of her. As soon as it was shut the glow was gone.

"Ah, there you are. I was wondering if you got lost," she said.

"Wouldn't be hard in this mess," Tom said from the stove.

"Hush you," she said, then she turned back to Ed and waved a hand at the seat across from her at the table. "Hungry?"

"Yeah," he said softly as he pulled out his seat. "Thanks."

"Do you like Cajun?" Tom asked as he set the steaming bowl in front of Ed.

The boy looked at the mélange of sausages, shrimp, rice and vegetables, and had to swallow because his mouth started watering furiously. "Never had it," he said. "But it smells good."

A look passed between Tom and Reilly, and the man nodded. He grabbed a glass from the rack on the counter and then opened a huge black cabinet. The direction it opened blocked Ed's view, but the cold air that filtered out and tickled the toes of his flesh foot caused his eyes to go slightly wider. Electric refrigeration was just starting to find its way into private homes in Germany. This thing looked like it should be in a busy restaurant.

A moment later, Tom set a glass in front of him and Ed's face fell. _Milk._ He sighed, pushed it away and said, "Water will be fine, thank you."

When he glanced up, Reilly was watching him with an expression that was mildly disturbing; like she knew more than she was saying. "If you're not used to the heat in Cajun cooking, milk is the best way to go. Water only spreads the fire."

He scowled and said though clenched teeth, "I'm not drinking something excreted from a cow."

She snorted and said, "It's not cow's milk."

"What? Then it's from a goat? That's even worse," he said, just a little louder than before.

Reilly looked like she was finding this whole thing amusing, which only served to annoy him more. "Nope, not goat's milk, either. It's soy."

"What the hell is that?" he snapped.

Another look passed between her and Tom, and when she faced Ed again, there was something suspicious in her eyes. "Soy is a plant, Edward. Personally, I can't stand cow's milk either. And no one even bothers with goat's milk these days."

_Uh-oh,_ he thought.

Tom set a glass of water in front of him and said, "Stop trying to torment the boy, Reilly."

Ed breathed a sigh of relief and scooped up a spoonful of the gumbo. It tasted as good as it smelled and he thought he could die happy right at that moment. He didn't realize just how hungry he really was until the flavors started to mingle in his mouth and his stomach protested impatiently.

He started shoveling the thick soup into his mouth as quickly as he could get the first bite down and so didn't notice the creeping heat until about the third heaping spoonful. At that point it was too late. His eyes started watering and his sinuses cleared in a rush. He gasped and waved his hand in front of his open mouth and looked around him in desperation. He snatched up the water and downed it in a few large gulps, but it wasn't helping. In fact it was making it worse, because now the burn was flooding down his throat and searing the lining from his stomach.

With a smirk, Reilly pushed the glass of soy milk toward him and he downed it without argument.

He coughed and sniffled, and wiped the tears from his eyes. After a long moment of that, he finally got himself under control and glared at Tom and Reilly. "Are you people trying to kill me!"

Tom chuckled and strolled back to the stove. "She tried to warn you. There's quite a bit of cayenne in that." He ladled up another bowlful and set it in front of the woman. "Reilly likes it spicy."

"Take smaller bites, Edward. No one is going to take it from you," Reilly said, and slipped a spoonful into her own mouth.

The rest of the meal went quietly, without incident. There was bread, which also helped absorb the fire; and when Ed took his time, he realized Reilly was right. It didn't burn quite as bad that way. Needless to say, he decided that Cajun Gumbo was something he was going to add to his very long list of favorite foods.

He'd polished off the last spoonful of his third bowl, resisting the temptation to lick it clean, when Reilly gave him that knowing look again.

"So, what's on the other side of that gate?" she asked.

Edward started choking.

He felt Tom pound him on the back and laugh, "Damn Reilly, your timing is sadistic."

When he could breathe again, he stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. "G-gate?" he squeaked.

She leaned forward and propped her chin on her fist, then gave him an almost seductive smile. "You weren't just out for a stroll in the middle of BFE, Edward. Not during a tornado warning. I don't believe you'd be that stupid." She nodded toward his right hand, which was resting on top of the table. "Not with metal limbs."

He slid the automail hand off the table and laid it in his lap. Scared, scattered thoughts whirled around his head. How much did she know? What would happen to him if he told her the truth? How much danger was he in, and could he get away? For that matter, would they believe him, or would they bounce him out on his ass and write him off as insane?

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, warm and comforting. He looked over at Tom. Even in the dim light of the candles, he could see concern and compassion in the older man's face. "We're not going to throw you to the Feds, kid. You're safe with us."

Reilly sighed and propped the other elbow on the table, lacing her fingers together. "Okay Edward, _quid pro quo_. I'll tell you what I know, and you can fill in the blanks. Fair enough?"

0o0o0

Long after Ed had been settled in the guest room, Reilly flopped down on the sofa next to Tom. She leaned back and closed her eyes. "His clothes are liable to be ruined," she said. "They're good wool."

"Do you buy his story?"

She opened one eye and looked at him. "Do you have a better explanation?"

"I'm sure there's a logical one somewhere," Tom said. He shrugged. "There always is. I just haven't found it yet."

Reilly leaned over a little and dug in her jeans pocket. She fished out a small wad of paper and tossed it on the table. The bills slowly unfolded, and Tom could see it wasn't US currency. He leaned forward and picked one bill up, then held it closer to the light from the oil lamp. "What the hell?"

"I found them in his pants pocket when I checked his clothes. It's a Reichmark," Reilly said. "And it doesn't look like it's been pilfered from some museum or anything."

"No shit," Tom breathed. "Damn thing looks brand new." He tossed it back on the table and leaned back. "Of course some enterprising soul might have thought it was a good idea to save a new one for posterity, too."

"All those bills are that new, Tom. And not a single one of them later than 1924."

"There's a logical explanation," Tom repeated in a mild tone.

"Skeptic."

"Freak."

"I love you too, you old fart."

0o0o0

**4:36am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

It was the strange noise that woke him up for good. The confusing almost-chirping noise that matched his heart and throbbing head, located somewhere above him on his right side. His body felt heavy, almost like someone had placed a lead blanket over him, and sluggish in a way he had only ever felt the first time he woke up in that armor. The sensation made him panic a little, the noises registering the slight acceleration of his heart.

Prying his eyelids open, Alphonse Elric blinked a little at his surroundings. It looked like he was in a very antiseptic room; all cream walls and bright lights which made him want to close his eyes against them. The strange beeping noise came from an odd machine at his side, black with a green line that moved with the sound.

His mind refused to deal with that strange thing at the moment, so he looked down at his body, trying to assess the damage. One arm had something resembling a tube attached to it, dripping a clear fluid into his arm through what felt like a needle hidden under the patch of gauze taped over the site. His other arm was in a black sleeve-like contraption, and he could feel the metal bars running through it. He could also see why they had wrapped his arm in that thing; the bruises mottling the skin of his forearm made it very obvious that he'd broken it. The patches of abrasions on his arm stung, and he could feel more of them all along his body. _Feels like I got dragged along shards of glass_, he thought.

Voices in the hallway startled him a bit, and he made it a point to close his eyes, trying to relax. Maybe listening in would give him an idea of just what was going on.

"--status hasn't changed yet?"

"No sir, sorry." The first solid voice he heard was a woman's, apparently slightly exasperated. "The kid's stable, but his brainwaves look like he's comatose at the moment; no reaction to outside stimuli. I'll be sure to send someone to get you when he regains consciousness, though."

"You'd better." The threat in the man's voice was veiled, but there, like the presence of venom in a snake. "This investigation can't continue until I talk to that boy."

"You don't have to threaten me, sir." The irritation was a bit more prominent now. "I'll send an orderly the instant he opens his eyes."

"You do that." The staccato sound of boots on tile rang through Al's ears, gradually fading and leaving him in a state of shock. What did that man want with him? Had something else happened when that thing hit him?

Remaining still and lax, he listened as the woman he'd heard stepped into his room, the sound of a pen on paper coming from above his head, next to that damn machine. "Huh, looks like you're starting to come to a bit. I hope you wake up soon; that man's getting on my nerves."

_She doesn't know I'm awake! _Al thought happily as he let her do her inspection, studying the bandages on his arm and, apparently, his head.

"I don't know what you did that got him so interested, kid, but that damn Fed hasn't left us alone since you came in. I wonder what happened to that road; Ernie said it looked like it melted up to protect you." Scratch, scratch went the pen. "Ah, well. Get better soon, kid."

Examination complete, the woman left him to his own devices, contemplating just what the hell to do about the situation, on his own, without his brother, in a place he knew nothing about.

_I hope Brother's okay..._


	3. Ch 2 Pixies and Pink Rooms

**"Pixies and Pink Rooms"**

**Arc One; Chapter Two**

**Balance of Power**

**April 24, 2006 - 5:45am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

The John Doe in room 308 had become the talk of the nursing staff. And Heather Breach's personal headache.

For the past four hours, ever since her shift had started, Breach had been bugged and badgered about the poor boy. If it wasn't her coworkers asking her if the kid had regained consciousness, it was that damn Federal officer who'd been in the waiting room until visiting hours had ended. Every time he'd seen either her or the doctor in charge of the case, he'd asked if the boy was awake yet.

She was half-tempted to conveniently 'forget' to send someone for the man if her charge was awake. Poor kid needed rest, not badgering.

"Here are the charts for south hall; can I get the ones for east now?" she asked at the front desk, ruffling her hair in an attempt to relieve her headache.

"That's John Doe's hall, right?" the desk clerk teased, getting the requested charts.

"I swear, Rick, if one more person mentions that kid and asks me how he is, I'm going to shove my stethoscope so far down their throat that they'll hear their own bowels move."

"Touchy." Rick handed her the sheet needed for her rounds of the east hall, smirking. "Let's hope that attitude doesn't show up in your bedside manner, eh, Breach?"

"Can it." Clipping the form to her board, Breach stuck her tongue out at her coworker, and hurried off to her next set of rounds.

0o0o0

After two hours plus one short nap after being checked on, Al had cobbled together something of a plan, while working through what felt like some pretty heavy-duty pain medication and the headache to end all headaches. The idea was simple enough; the only question was could he pull it off until he found his brother?

He hoped so.

Settling more comfortably onto a pillow which crinkled slightly as he moved, Al turned his ears towards the hallway, waiting for someone to walk through the door.

He didn't have long to wait, thankfully; the soft squeaking sound of shoes on whatever covered the floor heralded the arrival of someone outside the door, and there was a thunk and some soft shuffling as whoever it was grabbing something from just outside his door. The shoes squeaked to his bed, and he made it a point to open his eyes, the eyelids still feeling heavy to him.

The brown-haired woman in front of him appeared to be in her mid-twenties, her uniform decorated with some type of stylized squirrel repeated all over it. She glanced up, obviously only intending on looking at him for a second, then nearly dropped her pen.

"Oh! You're awake!"

Al smiled on the inside, but made it a point to look confused. "Yeah..."

"Good; the doctor was getting worried that you weren't going to wake up again." The woman checked the machines he was attached to, writing things down. "Can you tell me your name, kiddo?"

_Here we go_, Al thought. "Name?"

"Yeah, what you're called. I'm sure you've got a much better name than John Doe, so why don't you tell me?"

He screwed up his face, feigning confusion, but not the exhaustion and pain. "I-I don't remember."

"You... don't remember?" The nurse got a look of worry on her face and reached to examine his head. "Can you tell me what you do remember, kiddo?"

Al winced as gentle hands touched his head, letting the woman examine him as he tried to think. "Rain. And a bright light. Then my head hurt a lot." With a worried look he didn't have to work very hard to fake, Al watched the nurse as she gently let his head rest against the pillow once again. "What happened to me? Where am I?"

The nurse took pity on him, reaching for his right hand and squeezing lightly. "You're in the hospital, in Wichita, Kansas. As for what happened, you got hit by a minivan or something like it. And apparently have amnesia, in addition to a broken arm and a concussion." Smoothing the tuft of bangs not covered by the bandage on his head, the woman smiled. "Call me Heather, okay? I'll be coming in later to check on you again. And the doctor may, as well. Is that all right?"

"O-okay." Swallowing dryly, he looked up. "Can I have something to drink, please? My throat hurts."

Heather smiled again. "I'll see what I can do. You get some rest."

"Okay." Letting his eyes drift shut, Al allowed himself to calm some; relieved he'd gotten a nice nurse. "Thank you."

He heard the smile this time. "No problem, kiddo. I'll be right back."

As she left the room, Al heaved a sigh of relief, letting his tensed body relax slightly. If he was going to get out of this place, he needed to be healthy first.

0o0o0

**6:15am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Ed awoke with a start and a wash of disorientation. Anxious butterflies swarmed in his stomach as he tried to recall where he was. He wasn't anywhere familiar. The early morning light filtered dimly through the lace curtains, and cast the room in a subtle glow that thumbed its nose at his mood with the promise of a bright, clear day. Memory returned after a moment. He knew where he was... sort of. If 'knowing' allowed for no clue of location or time, that is.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew he was in a state called Oklahoma, in a country called America, and it was supposed to be the 21st Century. Vague concepts for which he had nothing to compare to.

He slowly sat up and rubbed at his aching head. All around were loaded down bookshelves, but what exposed wall he could see was an irritating shade of pink; even in this dim light. He looked at the narrow bed and scowled. Pink flowered sheets, pink lacy beadspread. He looked up and groaned painfully. The closet doors were pink, too. Except they were painted in a horrible, eye-searing hot pink that only made his head hurt worse. He stretched and shambled out of the vile pink room, throwing the fleece shirt on as he went. Any place was better than that.

He made his way into the bathroom and tested the switch on the wall by the door. He winced as the room was flooded with bright light; but it was a relief to know the electricity had come back in the night. He saw a fresh towel with a new toothbrush still in the package sitting on top of it; and something else next to it. He picked it up; discovered it was lightweight, with a hollow handle and a head with two strips of thin metal in it. _A razor?_ he thought with a snort. It hardly looked like it would handle even his light beard. He popped the clear cover off and lightly ran a flesh finger across the edges. His brows shot up when a little blood welled up. It was sharper than he expected. He looked around the counter, but couldn't find a shaving mug and a brush. Then his eyes fell on a can nestled in the corner, nearly hidden by various items he wasn't too sure about, and even less certain he wanted to find out.

After fishing it out of the tangle of alien items, he turned the can in his hand, and grinned when he found actual instructions written on the side. He pressed the button on the top of the can and an explosion of foam erupted from it. He jumped and dropped it. It clanked and clattered like gunshots in the sleeping house and he winced, hoping no one woke up because of the noise. He shook the foam off his hand and felt his chin. _Maybe I can skip shaving for now_, he thought.

Brushing his teeth at least seemed safe. The toothbrush didn't look entirely alien, anyway. The package it was in was a different story. He fiddled and struggled and couldn't get it open. Sighing in frustration, he listened carefully at the door, then lightly clapped his hands and brushed over an automail finger. He held up the finger that now sported a nice, sharp blade, and grinned. He used that to open the package. _Take that, new world_, he thought.

Looking around, he didn't see a tin of tooth powder, but he was quickly figuring out that in this world, almost nothing was familiar. He spied a tube in a cup with other toothbrushes and he made the leap of logic that this must be what he was looking for. When he pulled it out of the cup and saw the writing on it, he nodded. It looked simple enough. Unscrew the cap; squeeze some of the paste on the brush.

He glanced down at the mess of foam in the sink and decided to proceed cautiously. Fortunately the toothpaste wasn't under the pressure the shaving foam was, so Ed was relieved he could avert a second minor disaster.

Once Ed's morning routine was completed without any more incidents and in relative quiet, he tip-toed through the living room and toward the kitchen. He tried his best to avoid the stacks of books and other clutter scattered about like landmines; but one stack snuck up on him and he toppled it with barely a nudge from a metal foot.

He froze in place when he heard a loud snort from the vicinity of the sofa and rolled his eyes cautiously in that direction. He had an apology ready, when he realized that Tom was still dead to the world. With a silent, relieved breath, he cautiously took a step away from the stack.

In the pale light of morning, he was able to notice more detail; such as the tons of framed photographs on the walls. Several of them were clearly quite a bit older than others; mostly of a young, broad-shouldered man in a military uniform, or the same man, a little older, in a police officer's uniform. Newer photographs were of Reilly in groups accepting awards, or posing near crowds.

One framed item brought him up short. It was a newspaper clipping and the picture that accompanied it was of Reilly being led away... in handcuffs. _Oh, great. I'm staying with a criminal. And she's armed._

He squinted in the uncertain light, and peered closer at the article; and had to suppress a laugh. _So_, he thought. _Not necessarily a criminal; more like an annoyance_. She'd been arrested for something called 'Civil Disobedience'. As he read closer, he learned she was among a group protesting some military action this country was taking over in the Middle East. He wasn't so certain that what she did was smart, but he wasn't about to begrudge her standing up for something like this.

Relieved that he wasn't nesting amid a den of thieves, he tip-toed the rest of the way into the kitchen. Coffee was beginning to sound very good.

The sun was now higher up and filtering through the windows causing Ed to blink painfully at the bright yellow cabinets and white floors. In his opinion, that brightness was a cruel thing to do to morning eyes before any coffee was ingested.

He glanced around, wondering where Reilly kept her coffee pot hidden and saw the glass carafe sitting on a white base on the amazingly uncluttered counter. "Mr. Coffee" was spelled out in big black letters over the top of the carafe. Ed snorted. That was easy, he thought.

He looked the contraption over carefully and was grateful it wasn't some bizarre thing with a million horns, bells and whistles. A place for the coffee, a place for the water, and a switch. Simple. It wasn't difficult to figure out that the coffee wasn't percolated, but brewed through a drip system.

_Okay, maybe the 21st Century isn't that bad after all_, he thought as he pulled out the brass basket and dumped the old grounds down the drain with running water. He had everything set up, and popped the lid on the coffee can. The smell of ground coffee was something he loved and he felt his mood improve in anticipation of the bitter, black liquid.

He started to scoop coffee into the basket, when he heard Reilly's front door open with a loud squeak. He hesitated and listened close; a knot of anxiety building up in his belly.

Whoever it was, they weren't being sneaky. He heard heavy steps on the wood floor that stopped about the center. Then he heard an overly cheerful voice call out, "Hey! Reilly! Get your lazy ass up!" Ed relaxed just a little. Obviously it was a friend of hers. Albeit a rude one, in his opinion.

He crossed the kitchen and peeked around the corner. In the middle of the living room was a young man; not much older than Ed, with a thin case slung over his shoulder. His long black hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and he was wearing the loudest flower-print shirt Ed ever had the displeasure of seeing. Ed blinked and regretted looking directly at it when the after-image wouldn't leave his eyes.

He stepped out and said, "Hello?"

The young man started and turned to him. He gave Ed an appraising look, and a slow, lascivious grin spread across his face, which didn't endear him to Ed at all. "I didn't know Reilly had a guest." He took a few steps forward and held out his left hand. "Everyone calls me Ducky."

Ed shoved his hands in the pockets of the sweat pants and nodded toward Tom, who hadn't moved. "Might wanna keep it down."

Ducky's good humour didn't dim any at the slight; but he snorted and slipped past Ed into the kitchen. "Dude, it would take a nuclear first strike at ground zero to wake his ass up. Trust me."

Ducky unshouldered the case and lightly tossed it on the table. "Any coffee yet?"

Ed followed him in, keeping a wary eye on the case. "I was just making some."

"Wunderbar!" Ducky said.

Ed stopped halfway across the kitchen and glanced back at the young man curiously. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

"Huh?"

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Ed said with a slight smile. He returned to the coffee, and started to scoop some grounds into the basket. He hesitated with a scoopful ready to dump, suddenly realizing he had no idea just how much he needed. He glanced back over his shoulder at Ducky and asked, "How strong does Reilly like her coffee?"

Without thinking about it, Ed was using his right hand and he suddenly felt self-conscious when he noticed Ducky was looking at it. Staring, actually. The young man blinked, and reddened. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean..."

Ed shrugged. Too late to hide it now. "Experimental prosthetic," he said.

"Impressive," Ducky said.

A smile tugged at the corner of Ed's lips. "Thanks. I'll let the person who made them know."

"Them?"

Ed pointed down at his left foot and wriggled his toes to demonstrate. Ducky made a silent 'O' with his mouth.

Ed held up the scoop of grounds and raised his brows in a silent question.

"Oh. Two rounded scoops," Ducky said. "Reilly likes her coffee to slap her awake."

Ed started the brew while Ducky opened up the case and pulled out another one that looked a lot like what Reilly was using the night before. He watched curiously as he reached for the refrigerator door. Then his attention was pulled into the vast, white cavern filled with food. His eyes went wide and it took everything he had to keep his jaw from dropping. It was an unbelievable amount of food. Ed hadn't seen this much at one time outside of a celebration in his life.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder and spun as Ducky sauntered past.

"Don't bother," he said, as he opened up a box on the counter and pulled out a bag full of bagels. "No one eats a big breakfast here." He dug a sharp knife out of a drawer and sliced the bagel in half, then dropped each half into slots in a silver box and pushed a lever down. A moment later, Ed could smell the appetizing scent of toasting bagel. "Toss me the cream cheese..." Ducky hesitated and blinked. "You have a name, by the way?"

Ed searched the refrigerator and found a tub of cream cheese. He tossed it to Ducky, who caught it without actually looking; he was paying more attention to pulling out a plate from the upper cabinet. He set the plate down and pulled the lid off the tub, flipped it onto the counter, then pulled a cup from the tree next to the toaster box. He concentrated on pouring the coffee into the cup and casually picked the plate up, holding it in the air. With a low buzz, the lever for the toaster popped up and the two halves of the bagel were launched into the air. Ducky caught them on the plate deftly without even looking.

Ed just stared.

The other man glanced expectantly over at Ed, then broke out with a huge grin. "Name? Or are you another one of the anonymous toy-boys Reilly collects?"

Ed blinked and suddenly remembered the door to the refrigerator was still wide open. He shut it hastily and felt his face heating up. _Toy-boy?!_ He'd never heard the phrase before, but he didn't need to be a genius to figure out what was implied.

Ducky snickered and started spreading cream cheese on the bagel. "She's always had a thing for the young blonde ones." He shook his head. "Too bad about the others, though."

Ed didn't like where this conversation was headed. His back stiffened and his brows knitted in a scowl. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ducky looked at him innocently and Ed couldn't tell if it was real or not. Then the man's expression became serious. "She did tell you about the gremlins, right?"

Ed shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Now he was completely lost. "Gremlins?"

"Yeah, you know? Bugs? Glitches? Malfunctions in the electronics?"

_Okay_, Ed thought, _I got malfunction_. "What does this have to do with..." He choked on the phrase. "_Toy-boys_?"

Ducky snickered, and took a bite of his bagel. "The others tried to escape, but Reilly caught them and locked them in the shed out back. I'll lay you ten to one odds that the ghosts in the machines are spirits of the ones she starved to death after she got bored with them."

Ed was now firmly convinced Ducky was certifiably insane.

"Ducky," a very sleepy and disheveled Reilly said through a yawn as she shuffled into the kitchen. "Keep fucking with his head like that and you'll be the next one in the shed!"

He snorted and took his coffee and bagel to the table.

Reilly slipped past Ed and squeezed his shoulder. "He's full of shit, Ed. Just remember that."

"Ah-hah! So the new _toy-boy_ does have a name," Ducky said.

"I'm not a toy-boy!" Ed snapped.

Reilly turned from slicing her bagel and faced Ducky with the knife pointed in his direction. "You're pushing it, shit-head."

The young man snickered and ducked his head; suddenly very intent on the hard case he'd opened up. Ed heard a series of whirs, beeps and chirps emanating from it, then saw it begin to glow. He really wanted to get a closer look at the thing, but he didn't want to get any closer to this "Ducky" person, either. He knew if he was within swinging distance and Ducky made another toy-boy comment, he'd be forced to smash his face in with an automail fist; and he didn't think Reilly would appreciate blood all over her white floors.

Instead, he parked himself on the opposite side of the kitchen, next to the coffee, and concentrated on getting some of the black liquid into his system. He was pretty much left to his own devices at that point as Reilly settled across the table from Ducky with her breakfast and opened up her own case.

The two of them tapped at their keyboards in silence for a bit, then Reilly glanced up and asked, "Ready?" Ducky nodded. And she hit one key.

A moment later, Ducky said, "Got it."

A horrible sound erupted from Ducky's case that made Ed jump and his teeth itch. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

"EVP," Reilly said absently. She didn't even look in Ed's direction. Instead she was concentrating on her own case.

"Maybe," Ducky corrected. "This is pretty dirty. Where'd you get it?"

"One of the kids in the group caught it night before last at the old Abbott Mansion."

Ducky looked up, and it was the first genuinely serious look Ed had seen from the guy. He didn't think he was capable. "B and E? You know that makes it invalid."

Reilly took a sip of her coffee and nodded. "Yeah. Stupid shit. We've been negotiating for months and he pulls this crap. But I'm still curious. And he insists there's something there."

Ed just listened. None of it made much sense to him as it was, but from the way the two of them were talking, he had a feeling that the meanings should be obvious.

That was, if he was from this time.

Reilly would understand his confusion, but Ducky had no idea of his situation, and Ed had no intentions of volunteering the information.

The strange, teeth-itching sound burst out of the case again. It sounded to Ed like wind in a tunnel, with a lot of static thrown in. Ducky's head tilted as he listened intently, then he shook his head when it stopped. "I'm not hearing it."

"That's why I asked you to clean it up, noob."

"Damn, and all this time I thought it was for my bubbly personality and sparkling wit."

"Nope, I just want you for your-"

"My body?" Ducky interrupted, with a hopeful look on his face that made Ed think of a begging puppy.

"-mad computer skills," Reilly finished, thoroughly unphased.

Ducky just snorted, and played the sound back again. The wind-tunnel noise had been reduced and the static was almost gone; and Ed heard something very vague underneath.

"Hmmm. Maybe he did catch something," Ducky said, then tapped at the keyboard again.

"By the way, I have something else for you when you get done here," Reilly said.

"I should start charging you."

"I feed you."

"You win," Ducky said with a grin. "So what do you want of me, now?"

Reilly nodded toward Ed, and said, "His brother is missing. We need to find him."

"That's Tom's thing, Reilly."

She gave Ducky a level stare and said, "You do freelance for Tom in missing persons, too."

"He pays me."

"I let you live."

If it hadn't been for the mild tones in their banter, Ed would seriously question his personal safety. The more he just kept quiet and listened though, the more convinced he was that they may be nuts, but they weren't a threat. Except maybe to his sanity.

Once the coffee had circulated his system and kicked in, his mood wasn't quite so prickly. Ducky seemed more intent on making bizarre sounds come from his case, anyway; and Ed's curiosity was starting to get the better of him. He poured himself a second cup, and crept closer to the table.

He made it about halfway, when Ducky played the noise back again; cleaner this time. The sound that came from the case chilled his blood and made him feel faint. He barely registered the sound of something shattering, or the feel of hot liquid splattering on his bare, flesh foot.

Through the staticky wind-tunnel noise that had been damped down, Ed could swear he heard a plaintive, frightened child's voice. "Mommy!"

"Wrath?" he whispered.

His knees became liquid, and he felt a strong hand on his left shoulder. "Ed?"

He blinked and turned to see Reilly's concerned face hovering nearby. He let her guide him to the chair and he slumped down into it, not really feeling it under him. She gripped his chin and tilted his head up. "Breathe, Ed."

Ducky snickered and said, "Damn, I know it was creepy, but I never saw anyone freak out like that befo-Ow!"

Reilly cuffed Ducky across the back of his head and that snapped Ed out of his shock. "What the bloody hell was that?" he asked.

Reilly gave him a satisfied smile, and went to clean up the mess he'd made when he dropped his cup. "It's called EVP," she said as she knelt down to gather up the broken shards of ceramic. "Electronic Voice Phenomena."

Ducky spun his case around so Ed could see. The boy blinked at the brilliant color on the inside of the lid; a picture of verdant green hills under a brilliant blue sky. It looked like a photograph, but unreal in the vividness of the color. At the bottom of the picture was a black band that went all the way across. Within the band was a thin gold line that formed irregular spikes.

"EVP is collected by recording the ambient sounds in a place that may, or may not be haunted," Ducky said. "Sounds that the human ear won't pick up can, in theory, be captured with recorders. Then we filter out the white noise, clean it up, and maybe have something that might be a ghost."

Ed gave the other man a disbelieving look. "You believe in ghosts?"

Ducky smirked. "Not really."

Reilly settled back in her seat, and said, "We're skeptics in this. But we don't discount the possibility of 'if'." She pointed at the picture. "Problem is, paranormal research isn't exactly considered 'science', and morons like the kid who collected this don't help matters. We have to be extra careful to follow the rules of research, if we're going to prove anything one way or another."

"Which means, this particular EVP is inadmissible as evidence," Ducky said. He glanced up at Reilly. "Delete?"

She nodded. "It's useless, and my curiosity is satisfied."

Ducky taped a few keys, and the black band disappeared. Ed blinked. "How'd you do that?"

The other man gave him a puzzled look, but Reilly prevented the question from finding a voice. "Ducky, there's something on the coffee table I want you to see."

Without another word, he got up from the table and went to the living room. Reilly gave Ed an apologetic look. "I went through your pockets last night. Sorry, but I wanted to be sure."

Ed nodded. He could understand.

"What the fuck?" Ducky shouted from the living room. A moment later he was back in the kitchen with a Reichmark in his hands, staring down at it in awe. "How the hell did you get your hands on a museum piece like this?"

"It's not a museum piece," Reilly said.

Ducky looked from Ed, to Reilly, and back. Comprehension slowly flooded his face and he sunk slowly into the chair. "No fucking way," he whispered.

"Way," Reilly said over the rim of her cup.

"You know what this means?" he said with a huge, excited grin.

"It means we can't say jack shit, Ducky."

Ed cast a wary look from Ducky to Reilly. She shook her head. "He's a psycho, but he's ethical, Ed. He won't tell anyone."

Ducky suddenly started laughing hard. He gasped between fits and said, "This is just too rich. Typical Reilly luck!"

"Oh, kiss my ass," she said with a mock scowl.

"I don't understand," Ed said.

"Ed, I've been researching leylines and the theory that where several of them connect there is a gate. You're proof that I was right. Except I can't use you as proof. I'm not going to let you be locked up in some lab somewhere."

Ed shuddered at the very thought. "Thank you," he said softly. "Really."

Tom shuffled into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and everyone turned to him. "What's all the bru-ha-ha?" he asked. His bleary gaze landed on Ed first, then Ducky, who was wiping his eyes and finally getting himself under control. "Oh," he said. "I take it Ducky's been told Ed ain't from around here, huh?"

"So what's next?" Ducky said. "Getting him settled and integrated?"

Reilly gave him a seductive smile and he winced. "Aw, man! Do you know how much work I'm gunna have now?"

"Let's not forget we need to locate a little brother, too," Reilly purred.

Ducky buried his face in his hands and shook his head. "You're so gunna owe me for this, Reilly."

"I'll buy an espresso machine if you pull this off."

Ducky looked up and grinned. "Deal."

Ed barely listened to the conversation that rolled around him. This morning was quickly taking on a sense of absurd unreality, and he wasn't sure how to start dealing with it.

The conversation concerned him as well, but other things caught his attention. Like the little box that kept popping up in the lower corner of the picture on Ducky's case and fading right away.

"What's that," he asked finally.

"What's what?" Ducky asked.

Ed leaned forward and squinted. A moment later, the box popped up again, and Ed pointed. "That."

As his finger came closer, however, a small static charge leapt from his finger to the screen; the picture jumped, and looked like it was breaking into a million little squares. Ed jerked his hand back and the picture returned to normal.

"Whoah," Ducky said. "Major pixilation!"

"Huh?"

Reilly gestured at the picture. "The image on the screen is made up of tiny squares called pixels. Looks like you have an effect on computers, my friend."

Tom moved to stand between Ed and Reilly, and stared down at the cases. "The metal limbs, you think?"

Ed looked at each of them, not comprehending exactly what the problem was. Tom gently gripped his shoulder and said. "You might not want to touch the computers around here very much; you seem to attract a lot of static, thanks to those limbs."

Ed groaned low and rubbed at his temples. He decided he was officially overwhelmed. _Pixies, computers, EVP_. None of it made any sense, and everything around him was starting to look more and more alien. He slowly laid his head down on his arms on the table. _And I thought coming through the gate to 1920's Germany with their planes and zeppelins was bad, _he thought_. What else am I going to come across that makes no sense?_

"Information overload," Ducky said. "Bet you wished you'd taken the blue pill, huh, Ed?"

Ed just peeked up from his arms and gave Ducky a very confused look, before letting his forehead plop onto his arms. "That's it. I'm in Hell."

0o0o0

**6:32am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Four years.

He'd been stranded here for four years, and he still wasn't used to any of it. The culture was frenetic, the air was a mess, the people were all idiots, and he was sick to death of everyone always asking the same damned question.

"Is that your real name, Agent Bond?"

He wanted to murder the woman. "_Yes_!" he wanted to yell as he reduced her to her component alchemic parts. He knew how to do that, too. He'd been working on some terribly interesting methods in Xenotime, and he'd just been itching to test a few out. Unfortunately, murder wasn't conducive to information gathering, and it was generally frowned on in society. Especially when it came to agents of the law. He thought it a rather stupid way to go about keeping people under control, but that was America for you.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished for the hundredth time that he hadn't used his real name when he created his identity in this strange world. "Yes," he finally ground out, "my name is _James_ _Bond_. I prefer to go by Sidney."

The nurse, Breach according to her nametag, seemed unaffected. "Your parents didn't like you very much, did they?"

Sidney wanted to strangle her, have a smoke, and get a decent cuppa. In that order. But she was the only moderately informed person in the entire building, and that simply wasn't going to work. He ignored her comment and went back to his line of questions.

"Can you elaborate on the boy's condition? I need to question him regarding the chain of events of last night."

The nurse shrugged noncommittally. "He woke up once, but he's really in no condition to answer questions yet."

That was it. He had been shuffled around through all the red tape and sidestepped for at least four hours and now he was being given the runaround by the most useless human being he'd ever met. He turned his wrist, ostensibly to check the time, but mostly to activate the array he'd drawn into it. _Just a quick twist and Nurse Breach would be nothing more than an unpleasant memory, just like so many Ishballans_.

Sidney abruptly remembered that this was not Amestris, the free-kill order under Generals Grand and Hakuro had lapsed, and they were standing on white linoleum. The bloodstains would never come out, and there was the pesky issue of killing someone in open public. _Damnit_. He could always claim it was in the interest of national security. It wasn't strictly a lie, either; it just wasn't in the interest of _American_ national security. He decided to give up on the nurse, and he stormed down to the cafeteria. At the very least, he wanted a mediocre cup of tea.


	4. Ch 3 Time Doesnt Fly, It Crawls, Slowly

"**Time Doesn't Fly, It Crawls… Slowly"**

**Arc One: Chapter Three**

"**Balance of Power"**

**April 24, 2006 – 6:48am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

_Ice chips_.

Al stared at the papery cup sitting happily perched on the wheel-about table-thing in front of him, vaguely wondering if the hospital staff was trying to make fun of him. Or kill him through starvation. Either one worked.

_They gave me __**ice chips**__. Instead of food. Are they nuts?_

When Heather had brought the doctor back with her, both of them had proceeded to give him a complete check-up, asking him questions. Did he know his age? Did he remember any names? Places? Did he remember any siblings? Answering them had made him feel very hassled, and had made his head hurt even more, but the frustration didn't seem to bother the good doctor or the nurse. They obviously just chalked it up to Al being horribly frustrated that he couldn't remember anything.

To top it off, he'd started coughing due to a hoarse throat. The doctor checked his breathing with a stethoscope that nearly froze skin when it touched him, and added a nasty cold to Al's list of injuries from his night in the rain.

And to add insult to injury, they wanted to wait until breakfast before feeding him, which was thankfully in a few hours. He was nauseous, but it was probably due to lack of food. However, their paranoia was the reason why he was currently engaging in a staring contest with a waxy cup full of chipped ice.

_This day just gets better and better._

Sighing and deciding to take what he was given, Al picked up the cup with his right arm, frowning at the tube coming from it (An IV, Heather had called it) before settling down to placing the chips in his mouth one at a time. It was a slow way to quench his thirst, but at least the ice soothed the scratchy feeling running the length of his throat and some of the turmoil in his stomach. He looked around his room for the first time without worrying about whether someone was in the hall, trying to remember everything his nurse had told him before she'd left.

Heather had explained how a few of the gadgets around him worked, demonstrating each one before moving on. She'd held a slim pen-like contraption before him, pointing at the white button on its top. "If you need something, you can push this button right here, and in a few minutes either myself or someone else on the nursing staff will come get you what you need, all right?" She'd pressed it, and Al caught sight of a small light outside the room turning on before Heather reached to turn it off. "This pad-type thing adjusts how your bed is; if you want to sit up, press this button, and it will let you. Wanna sit up?"

Al had nodded, wondering just what the bed was going to do to him. When the bed itself started moving, he'd tried to stay calm until he was sitting entirely upright. He felt woozy after that, but got over it after a few quiet moments. "And how do I put it back down?" he'd asked after getting over his initial shock, taking the little control in his right hand.

"Just press the down button, and it'll go back. And this black remote--" here she had grabbed a similar contraption, with little bumps all over one side, in neat little rows, "--controls the TV."

Al had blinked in confusion. He wasn't familiar with that term. "TV?"

In response, the nurse had hit the one red bump on the whole thing, and the black box in the corner lit up and started making noise. It sounded like people talking, and a picture -- a moving picture -- appeared in the glassy part. Al swallowed hard, only listening with one ear as Heather explained how to adjust the volume, and "change channels" as she called it. _It must be like a Cinematograph_, Al thought, remembering that moving pictures were fairly new back home and in Germany. He never had much of a chance to actually see one, but he'd read about them. _But I think I'll leave it alone for now_.

"You need anything else? Feeling okay?" Heather asked, turning the pictures off with another press of the red button. Al thanked whoever was listening that the frightening thing was quiet again.

"My head and arm hurt a lot, and I'm kinda hungry and thirsty. My stomach feels weird, too."

The nurse smiled wryly. "I can get you some ice chips; no solid foods until breakfast. The doc doesn't want you getting sick and vomiting, not when your head is still kind of swollen. Okay?"

Since there had been really nothing he could do about it, Al had nodded. Now he found himself eating the least filling thing ever, a new dose of pain meds dripping into his veins via the IV-thing, and wondering where his brother was.

He knew a few things for certain. Firstly, he somehow knew that both he and his brother had been dragged through that gate; he remembered the sensation of being ripped apart from his brother, though his next coherent thought was awakening in the rain. Secondly, if his brother had been nearby the place where Al had landed, the woman who had gotten him to the hospital would have done the same for Ed. Since he was apparently the only "John Doe" in the hospital, it ruled out the possibility of Ed being nearby. This meant that, while Ed was in the same world as Al, they weren't in the same place.

That was the thought that made Al panic.

_I just need to stay alive and out of sight_, he thought to himself, finishing the cup of ice and shoving the wheeling table away. _Once I get out of this place, I'll find brother. Living here can't be too hard, can it?_

Trying to calm himself with those thoughts, Al adjusted his bed very cautiously, and settled in for some more sleep. The pain meds made him sleepy, and he should probably take advantage of being left alone while he still could.

0o0o0

As was the usual, the selection was limited to black, "herbal," some perverse variety of honey-flavored green and "mandarin orange." It was disgusting, and he told the woman at the register as much. She suggested he help it along with NutraSweet and lemon. _Typical_. Americans were always dumping sugar and lemon and cream into the mix, and Sidney had no desire to drink glorified cough-syrup. He managed to choke down half a cup of stale black tea before he gave up entirely. He would kill for a decent cup of tea, then remembered that he had in the past. If nothing else, the Ishballans knew the secrets of the cuppa.

Sidney rubbed a hand over his head, and was annoyed at the lack of hair. That was another thing someone was going to answer for later once he got home, and he headed back upstairs to wait the boy out. He was so close he could almost smell the strong, yet subtle gradations of cinnamon and chamomile in his favorite tea as it intermingled with the rich seethe of his CO's cigars.

He'd arrived in Wichita after he'd gotten a tip from one of his less useless sources, and he hadn't been disappointed. The road was a warped disaster, and all the particles had fused into a nightmarishly hard amorphous mess. Alchemy, his world's alchemy, was written all over it. It was a simple matter of tracking down the culprit from there. That might have been easy enough, but the boy was playing dead, and he couldn't just barge in and intimidate the kid into talking. He was pretty sure the laws against that kind of thing hadn't lapsed, and he was in a damned _hospital_. Gunshots probably wouldn't go over very well.

Sidney took up residence on an ass-killing hard bench across the hall from the boy's room. He'd taken a peek when the kid first got in, and he'd thought he looked a bit familiar, though he couldn't place the face. He allowed himself a shrug and settled in to wait. In his former life in Amestris, he'd been a state-sanctioned assassin, one of the best, and being the best meant having enough patience to wait for the perfect moment. He was more than patient enough for this.

After all, he had all the time in the world. This one, at least.

0o0o0

**7:27am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Reilly's property was a combination of willful neglect and controlled chaos. The twenty acres out back had been left to lie fallow, while the house itself and parts closest to it were in various stages of demolition, or repair. With the exception of one patch; a small, lush walled garden, with a healthy weeping willow curtaining a well-worn wood bench, a pair of Japanese maples, and a burbling koi pond. There were other plants, and shade trees, but Reilly had made it a point to take extra care with the maples and the willow.

It was her pride, and her escape. It was also where she found Ed an hour after he went into information overload. He was squatted down on a flat rock under a huge, fully-bloomed Catalpa tree, scratching a metal finger in the dirt, then wiping the image away. She almost missed him in the dappled shade cast by the dinner-plate sized leaves. The entire garden was white with the blooms that had been blown off in the storm last night, and still more were snowing down on the warm gentle breezes of the fresh morning. Several had landed in the boy's hair, where they remained unmolested and unnoticed.

She said nothing while she gave the statue of Quan Yin her morning greeting. She lit the stick of incense, and stuck it in the pot of sand in front of the statue that sat serenely next to the pond full of excited Koi; then she brought her hands together in supplication and bowed three times. She gave silent thanks for what the female Buddha had taught her, and considered that those lessons were about to be tested in the near future.

She remained quiet, contemplating the direction she saw things going as she knelt down and fed the Koi. She watched the play of light on the moving water a moment, marshalling her own thoughts. She knew there was more to Ed than he was telling, but at the moment, she saw no reason to press. He was bright, but she wondered just how adaptable he was. She hoped that he would adjust eventually.

Reilly tried to tell herself that the only reason she was even interested, was because he was proof of what she'd been researching for years. She was also concerned because he was a fellow human being. It was just a part of her beliefs to assist where needed, and this kid definitely needed it. Once she'd done what she could, she'd send him on his way. She didn't need the hassles otherwise.

Except that she knew more would be coming, and they were unavoidable now.

_Change_, she thought with a sigh, _is the natural order of life. Without change, life cannot exist. But damn, does it have to come charging in on gale-force winds?_

She got up, dusted off her hands and approached the boy. He was so deep inside his own head that he didn't register her presence as he etched another image in the dirt. Reilly watched as a circle was formed, and several archaic symbols followed.

"Ed?"

He started and froze with his hand hovering over the symbols. An instant later, he hastily wiped it away and looked up. Reilly smiled as some of the white flowers fell unnoticed from his hair. Another fell from the tree and bounced off his nose, causing him to blink and watch it land in his lap. He picked it up in his metal hand, surprising Reilly with the gentleness of the movement.

"Catalpa," she said as she knelt down in front of him. "They grow like weeds in this part of the country."

He looked up at the profusion of huge leaves, white flowers, and long, chocolate-colored seedpods. "It's pretty," he said.

"It is," she said. "I love them. Most people around here can't stand them, though. They hate the flowers. They get into everything."

Ed remained silent, examining the flower for a long moment.

"What do you want?" Reilly asked, finally. "Other than to find your brother."

He thought a moment. "Ideally, I'd like to be able to go back home," he said softly.

"Home being Germany?" Reilly asked. "Or where you originated from?"

Reilly watched the gold irises contract, then return. Then the brightness dimmed a little as he went thoughtful. "Where I originated…" he mumbled. He looked down, and wiggled his metal fingers. "The gate we crossed from there can't be opened again. We can't go back."

She reached out and laid a hand over his. "Going back to 1924 Germany may not be a good idea either, Ed. Even if we can figure out how to get you there."

His brow furrowed. "It's not so bad," he said. "And it's not that different from Amest—from home." He pointed back at the house. "Not like this. With computers and pixies, and strange voices screaming."

"I can understand that you're scared, Ed."

He jerked his hand back from hers and clenched his teeth. "I'm not scared."

Reilly smirked. "Really? Hell, if I'd been hurled almost eighty years into the future, I know I'd be scared."

His glare softened, but didn't disappear. "It's just…"

"Overwhelming?" Reilly offered.

He nodded. A moment later he smiled sadly. "Al and I… We'll manage though." He looked up at her. "You don't think we can go back, do you?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I don't even know what you did to get over here in the first place. I suppose we can figure it out together, though."

"You don't need to—"

"Oh," Reilly said with a wicked smile, "I most certainly do. Do you think I'm going to let you disappear without picking your brain for everything it's worth? You can advance my research by leaps and bounds, kiddo. I'm not about to let that opportunity slip away."

Ed stared at her, stunned. She got to her feet, and offered him a hand up. "Look at it logically," she said. "I have tons of research here already. Take advantage of it to see if you can get what you want. And I'll learn what I can from you. _Quid pro quo_."

He gave her a crooked, determined grin and got to his feet. "Equivalent Exchange."

"First things first," she said as they strolled back to the house. "Getting you acclimated to this time period. It might take some time to find Al, and I'm not going to have you hiding out doing nothing but waiting. Tom and Ducky will help out."

"Ducky's an ass," Ed grumbled.

"That he is. But he's a good friend, and good at what he does."

0o0o0

**8:03am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Someone was moving around in his room.

Al cracked an eye open, feeling tired despite sleeping like a log after finishing his ice chips. Apparently, there was a nurse in his room, and it wasn't Heather from earlier. This one was a very large male, but he looked completely harmless. _Almost like a less-sparkly Major Armstrong_, Al thought with a slight smile. Followed quickly on the thought's heels was a wave of homesickness, making Al sigh sadly.

"Hey there, Tiger," the man said, wheeling a cart into Al's room. "I hear you don't remember anything."

Nodding once, Al winced as his head started reminding him it was injured. "Uh, yeah. I don't."

"Eh, most amnesia caused by head injuries is temporary, so I wouldn't worry too much." The nurse lifted the thing in his hands. "I'm Ray. I've got food for you, if you're hungry."

Al blushed as his stomach gurgled plaintively, unsure if it was nausea or just plain hunger. "Yeah, kinda."

"I think 'kinda' is a bit of an understatement." Chuckling good-naturedly, Ray set the tray on Al's little wheeling-table, nudging it in front of the boy and helping him raise the bed so he could eat. "It's biscuits and gravy today, Tiger. Count yourself lucky; that's the best breakfast they make here."

"It smells wonderful," Al admitted, savoring the scent of spices and bread as he unwrapped his silverware. Upon looking at the two glasses on his plate, he blinked and poked at the top. "Uh, what's on my milk and orange juice? And what's written on it?"

Ray chuckled, unwrapping Al's straws and poking both through the film covering the drinks. "It's Saran-wrap. The kitchen staff does that so the drink doesn't spill when we take the meals around, and the room number is so they know what tray it goes to. The new girl Lisa is really good at it; we can just puncture the stuff when she does it. It's, like, vacuum-sealed."

Deciding it didn't matter what the 'saran-wrap' was, Al let the nurse uncover his tray before getting down to eating, letting the surprisingly good food send his tongue into ecstasy before chewing and swallowing.

"Well, at least you have common sense and aren't scarfing it down." Picking up the chart from outside, Ray started making those notes Heather had last night. "Don't force yourself to eat it all, okay? Don't want you making yourself sick."

"I won't."

Al worked slowly through his meal, trying to shake the exhaustion and pain that still permeated his body as he filled up on biscuits, gravy, and bacon. It was disconcerting, having his body feel this sluggish and unattached, but he had a feeling the medication he was receiving was at least partially responsible for the sensation.

Going through the routine of checking Al over, the nurse got a strange contraption and clipped something onto the tip, then grabbed Al's ear. "That Fed guy might come and talk to you, too. He wouldn't leave us alone about you last night. Just a fair warning," he said, inserting the tip into Al's ear and holding it there.

_Oh, crap_, Al thought, pausing halfway through his first biscuit at both Ray's actions and the words. "Thank you for telling me. Uh... what are you doing?"

"I'm taking your temperature. Sorry it feels weird. You have a cold; wouldn't do for you to get a bad fever too, would it?" The thing beeped, and Ray smiled before writing down the number. "Looks like you're fine in that department, though."

"Good. I hurt enough as it is."

The nurse laughed, inserting the tips of his stethoscope into his ears. "I'll bet. Lean forward, I wanna check your breathing."

Al obeyed; thankful the nurse had warmed the flat part up this time. Once he was finished checking his breathing and Al went back to eating, Ray started talking some more, tidying up the room a bit and apparently determined to liven up Al's morning. "By the way; I think the doc's moving you to Pediatrics later this morning, since you aren't in a coma anymore."

"Pediatrics?"

"Yeah. They treat kids in pediatrics." Al made a face, and the nurse laughed. "I know you're a teenager, kid, but people go to pediatrics until they're eighteen. Don't get offended."

Al smiled. "I won't. Maybe I'll get some actual sleep there."

"Pfft, you were sawing logs with Paul Bunyan; it's just the pain meds that are conking you out so bad. They'll lighten up on that once your head isn't so painful."

_Paul Bunyan_? Al wondered as he went back to his food. _I wonder who that is_. Thankfully, Al was allowed to finish his meal after that, though Ray gave him a teasing look once he was done eating. "Hey, you wanna pick what you want for lunch?"

Al blinked. "I get to choose?"

"Well, sorta. You get choices of a few things, but if you don't pick, the cook staff gives you whatever they feel like. Do you know if you still remember how to read? If not I can read it off for you."

Al snorted, taking the little menu and looking through it. There was a pen on his table, and he checked off one box in each little row before giving it back. "There."

"Ah, good choice; their chicken is usually awesome." Ray put the menu away. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Nah, I think I'm going to sleep some more."

"Probably wise. Save your energy for Fed-boy when he gets here."

Al sighed and lay back, closing his eyes against the light in the room, his head hurting again. _I really hope I can bluff my way out of this_, he thought.

0o0o0

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

After Reilly chased Ducky into the living room with his laptop, she spread a giant global map out on the table. All over it were spiderwebs of lines spreading out from several central points. Ed studied the map with idle curiosity while Reilly prattled on about leylines and sacred places. It all sounded like superstitious mumbo-jumbo to him.

From the living room, he could hear Tom and Ducky debating search parameters. The argument sounded like a common one between them, but it didn't sound like any real heat was involved. He could also hear the low strains of music, as well. It was a style he wasn't familiar with, but the raw voices and simple melodies touched something deep within him. He decided he liked this style of music.

When the woman sang, voice whiskey-rough and filled with emotion, "Freedom's just another word, for nothin' left to lose…" he blinked and felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. _Never quite thought of it that way before_. Then he noticed Reilly watching him with that knowing look and he realized he hadn't heard a word she'd just said.

"Sorry," he said. "You were saying?"

"Janice Joplin."

"Huh?"

"The singer," Reilly said. "Arguably the greatest blues artist ever."

She dropped a box of pushpins and string on top of the map. "Anyhow… leylines," she said, getting back to the subject at hand. "They're the alignments between ancient, sacred places. In other words, it's the straight line from sacred place 'A', to sacred place 'B'. Most of them are about eight to ten miles long. Theory has it that there is energy that comes from them. The energy… in theory… is supplied by the power of the sacred places; which in turn, supplies the sacred places." She paused, and looked up at him. "With me so far?"

Ed pulled himself from his amused thoughts and smirked at her. "Energy. Religion. Theory. Got ya."

Reilly chuckled softly and shook her head. "No religion, Ed. These places existed long before anything that we would consider religion was born." She picked out a pushpin and looped the end of the string on it. "Anyhow, the gates seem to exist where the energy is strongest; namely, sacred places that have several leylines leading into them." She jabbed the pin into a spot on the map at approximately north-eastern Oklahoma. The spot radiated straight lines from it like a wagon wheel. "That's us," she said as she pointed.

"Really?"

"Smart ass," she mumbled. "Anyhow… if you will be so kind as to indulge me a moment… Some people believe that the leylines aren't very long. Like I said, eight to ten miles. Some less, some more, but not by much. Mainly because you run into another sacred place at that point." She unrolled the string, and pulled it across the Atlantic, and toward Europe. "But what if there was nothing between one place and the next that was hundreds, or thousands of miles away?"

"I take it Atlantis doesn't qualify as a 'sacred place'?"

"Atlantis is a myth," she said, as she studied where the string lay.

"As opposed to leylines?"

"The leylines are real. They're just straight lines from point 'A' to point 'B'. The energy they carry is the theory."

"Ah. That makes so much more sense," Ed said.

She just gave him a mildly dirty look, and went on. "If you can find a leyline that long, it's possible that it would carry with it a lot of energy. Possibly leeching from shorter lines that intersect—"

"In theory."

She pulled the line taut and reached for another pin. "Aachen, Germany, right?"

Ed nodded, and then covered his mouth to hide the snicker threatening to escape. If Reilly were talking about archeology and paleo-archeology, there were two chances she would be able to find a direct, clear line from Oklahoma to Germany. And those were slim and none. Atlantis aside, there were thousands of Paleolithic monoliths and structures in Europe alone. And those were just the recorded and mapped ones. He didn't care to take a guess at how many were in America.

She pressed the second pin into the map at Aachen, and Ed's snicker disappeared. The line went directly from point 'A' to point 'B', and didn't run into another supposed 'sacred' place. There were tons of lines that intersected with the string, but none of nexi from which they emerged were touched by the string.

Reilly stared down at the map in silence a moment, then cocked a brow at Ed. "Mind you, this isn't anything definite. There could be places I don't have mapped yet that this line would stop at. Besides," she added as she looked over the map one more time. "This thing's far from exact. We'll just have to see if this theory's right."

"Okay," Ed drawled. "And this helps us find Al… how?"

Reilly smirked at him. "From the starting point of Aachen, we can search for other possible gates. It can narrow the search somewhat." She shrugged when he gave her a doubtful look. "At least we have a good idea of where not to look."

0o0o0

_First things first_, Ducky thought as he logged into some of the numerous websites and forums he haunted. His first leg of the search for the brother of Reilly's new toy-boy was to find out if anyone had reported anything strange and unexplained within the past 24 hours. Because of his association with Reilly and her paranormal group, Ducky had quite a few connections across the planet that were into similar activities. These connections and forums were his primary starting point.

Tom might give him a ration of shit over the 'scandal-sheet' legitimacy of some of these sites, but Ducky wasn't about to discount them completely. Not under the odd circumstances that brought Reilly's slightly prickly guest to them.

He started up _Diogenes_; a script he'd created when he first started helping Tom with his missing person's cases. It was what was often referred to as a spider; it would crawl the web, searching for anything that would fit within specific parameters. Ducky made those parameters specific to discount vague references to paranormal activity that had little or nothing to do with Ed's arrival, but loose enough to hunt down things that may be what he wanted, but were described in different words.

It was a damn good script in his personal opinion, and he was quite proud of it. Even Tom had to give a slightly grudging nod when it had helped track down more than a few tough cases.

He knew it was probably going to take a few days to run the spider through the web enough to give him something to work with. At least it didn't use too much RAM.

His next step was to start a manual search in the familiar places; the websites and forums he was already a member of. If he didn't find what he wanted then, he would pose a question to the forums, and email a few connections.

Ducky cracked his knuckles and got ready to rock and roll, but hesitated. There was a missing element to this search. The music. Blues was just not conducive for a hard-driving search like this one. He fished his MP3 player from the soft case he carried the laptop in, selected a playlist, plugged in the earbuds, and got to work while the hard, industrial sound of Rammstein thumped into his head.

_Oooooohhhhhhyeeeeeaaaaaah_! He thought with a wolfish grin.

0o0o0

Tom shook his head when he saw Ducky 'go under', as the boy called it. He knew the young hacker would be unreachable for the next few hours. He sometimes questioned his methods, but he certainly wasn't going to question the results. If his way of doing things found Ed's brother, then so be it.

Tom, on the other hand, preferred some of the more old fashioned ways. Starting with checking hospitals, police stations, and the like. The information age made it a lot easier these days, but more often than not, these places were where he found most of his leads.

That and a few shady connections that owed him some favors.

"What the hell do you mean my theories are specious?!" he heard Reilly snap from the kitchen.

Tom's head jerked up from the computer at the tone and quickly weighed the pros and cons of playing mediator. _If the boy is challenging her, he'd better have a damn good argument to back it up_, he thought. _Else this is gunna get ugly_.

"Just what I said," Ed said. "Or did the definition change over time? This whole thing is bullshit, Reilly! You can't research a 'gut feeling'. You need hard evidence, and so far you don't have squat."

_It's gunna get ugly_, Tom thought with a sigh and got to his feet.

"That 'gut feeling', as you so politely call it, saved your skinny little ass from drowning last night. Or did you forget that?"

Tom tapped Ducky on the shoulder, who was completely oblivious to the impending explosion. The hacker tugged the earbuds out, and gave Tom an annoyed glare.

"DON'T CALL ME SMALL, YA OLD HAG!"

Ducky's brows shot up and he laughed as Tom peeked cautiously around the corner into the kitchen. "Damn, for a little guy, he's got one hell of a pair of lungs on him."

"You might want to go for cover, Ducks," Tom said mildly.

Reilly's voice went low and quiet; a very bad sign in Tom's experience. "I know you did not just call me old."

Before it could reach disastrous purportions, Tom took a deep breath and headed into the fray. "Okay, you two. Neutral corners."

Ed waved a dismissive hand, then stormed past Reilly and Tom. "No need. I don't have the time or the patience to listen to superstition and myth." He paused at the doorway, and glared back at Reilly. "When you have something we can actually put into practice, tell me." He turned and left the room.

Reilly made to go after him, but Tom locked his arms through hers from behind. "That arrogant little bastard," she growled.

He had to smile. For once there was someone other than he and Ducky with enough balls to challenge her, and she wasn't quite sure how to take it. And from the sound of things, she'd found his hot button, as well. He wasn't too sure of either person's life expectancy if they continued to poke at each other like this; but he couldn't deny that it was going to be very interesting while it lasted.

"Settle down, woman," Tom laughed softly in her ear. "Think about his position a minute."

She sighed and he felt her relax and lean back against him. Tom let go of her arms, and wrapped his around her waist in an affectionate hug.

"He's still an arrogant little asshole," she grumbled, but without the heat from a moment ago.

"Well, at least he's been promoted from bastard to asshole. There's some hope for the boy, at least."

"What's the old saying?" Reilly said after a moment. "Be careful of what you wish for?"

"You'd think you'd know better by now. But nooooo."

Reilly snorted. "Kiss my ass, you old fart."

Tom planted a kiss on her temple, then let her go. "I love you too…" He gave her a wicked grin as he slipped past her and out of arm's reach. "…Ya old hag."

He ducked just in time to avoid the ball of string hurling for his head.


	5. Ch 4 Rubber Ducks Anonymous

"**Rubber Ducks Anonymous"**

**Arc One: Chapter Four**

"**Balance of Power"**

**Apr 24 2006, 3:14 AM**

**Heist wrote:**

_Holy lightning craphell, Batman! There is some insane dungpile going on out there. Autobus de bajo freak-show strange, people! About four hours ago, we got hit hard with lightning outta nowhere and a tornado. There were no clouds. It knocked out the power for a few, took out some shingles. I'm just getting the wireless back. And we're in some kinda weirdass null-spot, all radios get static out the derriere and I swear to the ghods of air and water that the air is crinkling. But the neighbors didn't notice anything. It's just us. I checked out a couple of the baby-leylines, and they're sizzling out like old hookers in high August. It's like a crazy Highlander rerun out there!_

_Is this a local thing, or did that happen anywhere else? I know you have a convergence in your back yard, -Pandora-, get in touch and tell me if anything interesting happened. Like, Terminator or something landing in a mudhole or whatev. I dunno…_

_----_

"_Wit is educated insolence." Aristotle_

_-------------------_

**Apr 24 2006, 7:26 AM**

_DeadSexKitten wrote:_

_pouts _

_nice of you to ask if anybody else is okay, but what the hell. OK got hammered w/ the stormage. hard. in the ass. no lube. lotsa crazy-clouds, tornadoes south of tulsa, area-wide power outs. lines were still down thru this mornin, but that's tornado ally in apr. for ya. business as the usual. you want i should make some calls? _

----

nice boots. wanna fuck?

-------------------

**Apr 24 2006, 8:11 AM**

_Heist wrote:_

_Thanks. And nice siggie. Is it new?_

"_I'm living so far beyond my income that we almost may be said to be living apart." e.e. cummings_

"_Frellinghellspawnedfiggindigginlightningfr iedcarbattery!" me_

_-------------------_

**Apr 24 2006, 8:42 AM**

_DeadSexKitten wrote:_

_:D i never kiss an tell…_

_----_

_nice boots. Wanna fuck?_

_-------------------_

0o0o0

**April 24, 2006 – 11:05am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

"Heya, Tiger! Long time no see!"

Al sighed and sat up from his sort-of nap, not sure whether to be relieved that the monotony was being lifted, or annoyed that this was the second time in about two hours that his nurse had visited him. "Heya, Ray. To what do I owe this visit?" He gingerly rubbed his head, wincing at the pain it still caused him. "Heather didn't check on me this much, did she?"

The large nurse grinned and brought in a wheelchair. "Nope, she didn't. But I need to get you all cleaned up before you transfer to pediatrics."

Al looked at Ray like he'd lost his mind. "You're not saying..."

"Yup. Sorry, Tiger." Roy chuckled evilly. "I have to give you a bath."

Hazel eyes grew wide in horror. "You're not serious, are you?"

"What, does the kitten not like baths?" The nurse laughed kindly. "Sorry, kid. I need to change your bandages, and you haven't been cleaned up entirely since you got brought in." Smirking, Ray came over and lowered the side of Al's bed, offering him a hand. "Now, you can come down on your own power, or I can pick you up. Your choice."

"Not much of one," Al retorted, carefully sliding off the bed and onto slightly unsteady feet. His body complained quite bitterly, and his stomach churned uneasily; he was apparently more injured than he'd realized.

Ray brought the wheelchair for him. "Here you go, have a seat. Mind you don't pull your IVs, they'll hurt like a bitch if you do."

"Duly noted." Al gingerly took a seat, frowning at his hospital gown. "Man, you don't get any dignity here, do you?"

"Not really." Switching Al's IV bags to the wheelchair's stand, Ray started to take him down the hall. "I'll be nice, though; I'll just help you with your hair, and you can take care of the rest."

"Why just my hair?"

"I can see the stitches in your head better than you, so I won't get soap in the wound and make it sting like hell."

Al made an affirmative noise, slightly distracted by his woozy stomach. "Mmkay... wait, I have stitches?" he asked, eyes widening.

"Yup. Ten of 'em, right along your hairline. You probably didn't feel 'em because of the bandage. I think you've got fifteen in other places; they had to pick shrapnel out of you too, yanno." Ray gave the kid a sympathetic grin. "Be careful you don't pull 'em, 'kay?"

"Will do."

Al settled back in the wheelchair, kind of enjoying being pushed around and out of his room. There were a lot of contraptions out here he didn't understand; people staring at what looked like glowing picture frames, medical equipment he thought he might have seen before but still didn't know the name of, and down the hall he swore he'd seen part of the wall move aside to let people inside a very small room.

He was distracted enough looking around that he almost missed it when Ray started speeding up, hurrying past what looked like a waiting room.

"Why'd you speed up?" Al asked while trying to look back at Ray without making his head hurt more.

"I saw that Fed-Boy; figured you'd want to be clean and maybe in some decent clothing before he got his chance to rip at you." Turning a corner, Ray managed to get both of them into one of the bathing rooms and get the door locked before anyone noticed. "I don't like that guy, Tiger, and I don't feel bad telling you that." Turning to the waiting bathtub, Ray put what looked like Epson salts in before starting up the water. "He makes my skin crawl. You didn't do anything to warrant attention from the feds, kid, but he almost seems like he wants to drag you off for testing. Lousy prick."

_Oh hell_, Al thought, the cussword barely registering as his stomach cramped in panic. _Whoever he's talking about knows something's different about me. A_ hideous thought formed in his head, making him sweat. _Does he know it was alchemy?_

Ray was still talking, getting all the bathing supplies ready and ignoring Al's apparent panicking. "I mean, a friend of mine was on the scene when they got you, and he said lightning had struck really close by. You never know what can happen when lightning's involved, it's a freaking force of nature! He can't blame you for something nature did!" Catching himself, Ray sighed. "Sorry, the man's just a prick. People like him set my teeth on edge."

Al smiled nervously, aching mind going a mile a minute thinking of what Ray had said about the circumstances surrounding his accident. "It's all right. At least I know what to expect now."

"Eh, you didn't do anything, Tiger. You'll be fine." Testing the water, Ray smiled mischievously, handing Al what appeared to be a rubber duck. "Bath's ready, and here's your ducky. Want me to turn around?"

Al blinked at the duck, then stuck his tongue out at the man and chucked it at his head. "Are you always this obnoxious when helping patients?"

Dodging the duck, Ray grinned. "It's part of my charm."

"Yeah, whatever. Go ahead and turn around."

0o0o0

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Ed needed a break.

Reilly had taken him by hand and gave him a quick run-down of what everything was around the house he didn't recognize, and then she gave him the theories on leylines and sacred places. Now he needed quiet to absorb it all.

At least the hard facts. Reilly's theories were impossible at the moment. He scowled and thought about that. _Gut feelings. Great. May as well make sacrifices to that multi-armed Goddess she has in the garden and the bathroom, for all the good gut feelings are going to do me._

He sat on the vile pink bed, in the vile pink room; his back against the blessedly white headboard, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his chin resting on them. Thinking. Pondering. Digesting. He hadn't set like that in a few years. Not since he'd gone permanently through the gate; mind, body and soul intact. Not since his father commented how small and vulnerable he looked like that.

Right now, he _felt_ small and vulnerable. He was in a strange world, vastly different from what he was familiar with; and he was without his brother. He never said it out loud, but it showed in his actions. Al was his anchor. He was lost without him. He'd been lost for two years before; drifting, treading water… waiting, and not sure of what he was waiting for. Now that he had his brother at his side again, he didn't want to lose him.

Except he had no idea where Al was.

Ed kept choking down the thought that tried to raise an ugly head; that it was entirely possible that Al may not have even come through the gate with him. Or worse, came through in another time… another place. Unreachable.

He would much rather be burying his nose in a book. But the selection was far from anything he could even stomach at the moment. The room was overloaded with books; and not a single one of them would do him any good. He'd already scanned through any possibilities Reilly kept in this room. He knew he should go snooping through the other books she had crammed in nearly every free space available in the small farmhouse; but he was fairly certain he'd just come up with much of the same garbage as before.

He needed hard science, not superstition, flakey beliefs or archeology.

And anything to do with the gates was thin; based on superstition and myth. He had a feeling that what little Reilly had already told him was about the extent of what was available. There weren't even any books with theories, ridiculous or otherwise, about how the gates were opened. Reilly had mentioned notes from her research saved on her computer and on something she called a CD, but he couldn't get to that. Not yet, anyway.

_Even stories about the Philosopher's Stone were easier to find than this_, he thought with a disgusted sigh.

He wanted a bloody alchemy book, damnit!

He sighed, and ran his fingers through his bangs. _Not on this side of the gate_, he thought. People believed in ghosts, but thought alchemy was a joke. At least that was the impression he got from looking at the books Reilly had piled in the vile pink room. He groaned and buried his face in his arms.

He suddenly felt a wave of guilt at his behavior awhile ago. Here he was, in a stranger's house, being treated as a welcome guest and even a friend; and he was laughing at the woman's beliefs. They didn't know him; yet they were willing to help him search for Al. _Does it matter how he's found_, Ed thought. _I should be grateful that they're willing to help._

He groaned and felt his skin heat up in shame the instant he realized that Reilly had every right to toss him out on his ear; but she hadn't said a word since he'd stormed out like a little kid throwing a tantrum. _Great. I just showed myself to be a royal asshole. I can just hear Al now. 'Brother, you should be nicer to people who are just trying to help.'_

Sharp, staccato sounds filtered through the closed door, along with good-natured jibes between Tom and Ducky; an occasional comment from Reilly interspersed with the rest of the general noises. Life was moving on and no one seemed any the worse for wear after his little display. Which only served to make him feel even shittier.

"I thought you were running a search," he heard Reilly say.

"I am," Ducky said. "What, you want me to stare at the computer while it searches?"

Ed leaned back and thumped his head against the headboard a few times in frustration. He gave up. There were too many things swarming through his mind, and too much noise to sort it all out. And his roaring guilt was getting the better of him. He got off the bed and wandered down the hall.

He leaned against the hall entry with his arms crossed, and watched the activity in the living room. Reilly was glancing up at her monitor (she'd explained that the picture frame on her desk was another computer; or rather the monitor for another computer), then jotting down stuff in her notebook. Tom and Ducky were on the couch enthusiastically slinging their hands about while they rapidly pressed buttons on small objects in them. On the TeeVee was some sort of fight competition, and the behavior of the two men seemed to be related to what was on the screen.

One of the fighters fell and Tom groaned loudly as he fell back on the couch. Ducky did a little victorious dance in his seat and chanted, "I am un-de-feated! HAR!"

Reilly glanced up and saw Ed watching. She smirked and glanced back over her shoulder. "Video game," she said. She turned back to Ed and rolled her eyes. "Men and boys," she said with an exasperated sigh.

"Game?" he growled as his momentary guilt flew off into the ether. "You people are playing… games? What about Al?" Ed waved a hand; gesturing to the outside. "He could be somewhere hurt… he could be—" he choked and felt an icy grip around his heart. "—dying."

"Ed," Tom said with extreme calm. When the boy glanced his way, the older man tossed the small object at him. Ed caught it, and stared down at it. "Your turn," he said as he got up and stretched.

Ed looked the item over and furrowed his brow in confusion. He held the object up. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, hearing the edge of hysteria creeping into his voice.

"Stress relief," Tom said. "And to discover the definition of true humiliation,"

"Why would I want to do something like that?"

Reilly chuckled. "The challenge. The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. The fact that most men are ruled by testosterone."

"Look," Tom said. "We won't find your brother by running around like chickens with our heads chopped off. We need to get certain information first; so we know _where_ to start. That's one of the nice things about being in the information age. The computers are running the preliminary searches. All we can do right now is wait for the results."

Ed sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It looked like they weren't doing a damned thing; but he knew Tom was right about running around with no clear direction. Not that it made much of a difference in his mood.

"Take a seat, Ed," Tom said mildly. "Go medieval on a pixelated ass and you'll feel better."

Ed cocked a brow, and took the spot on the couch that Tom had vacated. Ducky gave him a shark's grin, then gave him a quick and dirty lesson on the functions of each button. Then he explained the game, gave him a little demonstration, and threw Ed into the mix.

0o0o0

Despite the embarrassment suffered, a bath seemed to be exactly what Al had needed to feel at least mostly human again. Supplied with some flannel pajamas, Al carefully dressed as he took stock of his injuries. Ray had redressed his wounds and head once the bath was done, and Al was surprised at how many he actually had. In addition to the one carving a line across his scalp, there was one just above his left elbow that appeared to have been caused by sharp rocks, several scrapes which took up whole patches of his skin, a rather nasty slash that ran down his right side, and three parallel cuts on his right forearm which appeared to have been caused by the grille of whatever had hit him.

_I think I lucked out when it came to injuries_, Al thought as he buttoned the blue shirt which was a vast improvement over the hospital gown. _These aren't too bad, considering what they could have been._ "I'm done, Ray."

The large nurse was waiting for him as he carefully emerged from the changing area. "Take a seat, Tiger; you look really worn out now."

"Yeah, my head hurts again," he sighed as he sat down.

"Along with everything else, I'll bet." Pushing the wheelchair, Ray started for Pediatrics. "Let's hope that Heather chased off Fed-boy so you can get settled. Nothing sucks more than answering questions while in a lot of pain."

"Speaking from experience?" Al asked, enjoying getting pushed along for a bit.

"Yup." The nurse smiled, making small talk as they traversed the halls of the hospital. "I got hit by a semi in high school; was in a halo for six months. Pain in the neck, and they didn't even wait two days before questioning me as to what happened." His laugh seemed more self-derogatory than anything. "I feel for you, Tiger; they need to give you more of a break before launching into questions. You don't look more than fourteen; I was at least eighteen when they did that to me."

Al winced. "A halo? What's that?"

"Big metal thing they literally screw into your skull to keep your head still; I'd broken a vertebra, so they were making sure it healed and didn't paralyze me." He took the turn into Pediatrics, humming a little. "Hey, Fed-boy ain't here now. Awesome."

The next half hour or so went by pretty quickly; a bit of paperwork later, and Al was settling into a bed that was decidedly cheerier than his last one, in a room that didn't seem quite so sterile and cold. Heather had stopped by to say hello, and Ray had had to go tend other patients, leaving Al to relax a bit while pain meds soothed his aches and rest started to soothe his nerves and stomach. _Now maybe I can get back to my nap_, Al thought, yawning and settling into the soft pillow under his head.

0o0o0

The first few rounds, Ed was most definitely humiliated in defeat. But his mind never stopped working. With each mistake he made, he filed it away and didn't make it again. Before long, he was working out moves with complex combinations of button pushes and making Ducky work for his victories.

Each round would last longer and longer before Ed was defeated; and as Ducky worked harder, he concentrated more and made fewer jokes. It made the cramping that was growing in Ed's left hand a small price to pay.

He barely noticed that the activity around him had come to a halt, as Tom and Reilly watched. He was more intent on the game; and, he realized suddenly, he was enjoying every minute of it. There was a rush of adrenaline when he made the character on the screen move with grace and deadly accuracy, and a feeling of glee whenever he'd hear Ducky grumble at a painful blow.

The final round seemed to have lasted forever; an impasse almost. But gradually, Ed was gaining ground and hit points on Ducky. Both men were intent, sweating and gritting their teeth, rapidly punching buttons on the controls. Their world had narrowed down to just the two figures on the screen as blow upon blow piled up, and "life" slowly drained from the characters.

They were both close to the end. All it would take would be one well-placed hit or kick and the other would collapse in defeat. The scientist in Ed made rapid calculations several moves ahead, and knew what he had to do. A huge, wicked grin spread across his face, and he tapped out the right combination of buttons, hitting the last one with much enthusiasm and a subtle crack that went unnoticed. "Ha!" He shouted as his opponent died on the screen.

Ducky gave a wordless cry of agony, and fell back in the couch. "Nooooooo!" he whined. "My perfect record! Thrashed!"

"Congratulations, Ed," Reilly said. "No one has ever defeated Ducky in Soul Calibur."

Ed grinned and handed the controller over to Ducky. As it passed from his –automail— hand to Ducky's, it fell apart. The other man stared down at it like Ed had just squished a puppy to death and choked. "My controller! You broke it!"

Ed felt his face heat up and he gave Ducky a sheepish grin. "Uh… sorry about that."

"But… but… it was the magic that made the game work!" Ducky wailed. "I'll never be able to play again!"

"Whu--?"

"Oh, get over yourself, Ducky!" Reilly chided. "I can get you another one for 35 bucks at Wal-mart."

Ed looked from Reilly back to Ducky, and scowled. "You're nuts, you know that?"

"Thank ye!" Ducky said with a grin.

0o0o0

"So, you're the kid who's been causing me so much trouble."

The low voice from the door startled Al awake, making the boy hiss a little as his left arm tried to jerk into a defensive stance. That voice gave a low chuckle, stepping into the main room. "No need to get uptight, kid; I just have a few questions I want to ask you."

"Oh." Al took a deep breath, and used his free arm to rub the sleep and pain from his eyes. "Okay. You're that... agent-person, right?"

A small smile graced the man's face, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. "Yeah. The name's James Bond." Agent Bond took a seat in one of the chairs near Al's bed and scooted it closer. "I'd like to ask you about what happened."

"Bond, huh," Al murmured, trying to get his thoughts in order as his stomach churned uneasily. "What about what happened?"

The man frowned slightly, before a larger grin graced his features. "What do you remember about what happened last night?"

Al blinked, confused. "Last night?"

"When you were hit, son."

"Oh." _Here we go_, he thought before plunging in. "All I remember is waking up in the rain, seeing a bright light, and waking up in the rain and hurting. Nothing else, until I was brought to the hospital."

The agent raised an eyebrow, as though he didn't buy that explanation. "And how did you come to be stranded on the side of the road, boy?"

Al pretended to think for a little bit, then sighed. "I... I don't remember."

Bond allowed a small smirk to escape his lips, a look which really creeped Al out. "Now, I think you're lying when you say that, son. Care to try again, with the truth this time?"

The boy swallowed quietly, the nausea gaining strength as he grew more nervous. "I-I'm not lying. I don't remember how I got there."

"Are you sure? Or are you just afraid to admit that you know more than you should?"

Al's eyes widened. _Does he know??_

"I'll let you in on a little secret, boy; the damage done to that road is nothing anyone has ever seen in nature. Lightning can't melt asphalt like that; makes me wonder just what sort of weapon you had, to pull that off."

_Aw hell, I think he does_, was the only thought going through Al's mind, the rational part of his brain trying desperately to come up with a counter for all the accusations.

The man crossed his legs casually, leaning back in his chair as he watched Al. "It could be a new terrorist tactic, for all I know. Something to sabotage us in our own backyard. I couldn't leave a supposed terrorist in a civilian hospital, and with your suspicious actions, I should just haul you in for a more detailed questioning."

All the blood slowly drained from Al's face, leaving his head throbbing and a sense of numbness in his face. Licking dry lips, Al glared. "I told you, I don't know anything. And I seriously doubt your commanding officer would let you drag off an injured _kid_ for questioning without anything more than a hunch."

Bond let loose a soft chuckle. "Touché, but I wouldn't count on that. My superiors are paranoid; they'd allow me, if I had enough of a hunch." The man continued, very calmly looking at his watch. "You know, it's not a wise idea to lie to people like me. People are bound to get hurt. People who have nothing to do with this." The smirk widened. "Care to expound upon your tale now, son?"

"No!" Al sat straight up, cursing the various injuries and machines attached to him. "You wouldn't!"

A slight chuckle escaped the man's mouth. "Are you certain?"

Al felt cold sweat break out along his palms. "I-I told you! I honestly don't remember anything else!" He swallowed again, more audibly. "You leave everyone else alone!"

"Surely you don't expect me to believe you? Not acting like that."

Al could feel his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest, hysteria close on its heels. He clutched at his head, the concussion and stress conspiring to give him the headache from hell, and his stomach feeling like a tsunami was in its depths. _Damnitdamnitdamnit, what the hell do I __**do**_ "I--"

He couldn't say anything else as his lunch came bubbling up from his stomach… and landed right on Bond's nicely-ironed black suit.

The door abruptly opened. "Hey, Agent-guy!"

Al had never been so relieved to see another person in his entire life, but his stomach wasn't cooperating. He placed a hand over his mouth, trying to will his stomach to calm down.

Bond didn't look away from Al, who still looked about ready to spew chunks despite the appearance of his nurse. His glare was more intense than before, and made almost ludicrous by the vomit on his shirt. "Do you mind? I'm busy."

"Yeah I mind. You're making my patient worse." Arms crossed imposingly across his chest, Ray gave Bond a gimlet stare. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave. Now."

Raising an almost bored eyebrow, Bond got up. "Don't forget what I told you, little boy." Letting that hang in the air, he nodded his bald head at Ray, and calmly strode out the door.

Ray watched the man go, not relaxing until the agent's footsteps could no longer be heard. "Well, that went over like a lead balloon." He came over to Al's bed, setting what looked like a bedpan in front of him. "Go ahead if you need to, kid. Holding it will make it worse."

Al soon finished with his heaving once he had a receptacle nearby, his stomach eventually calming down enough to speak again. "You were listening?"

"Duh." Ray grinned. "How else was I supposed to know if he was pushing you too hard? Which he did; you look like shit, and vomiting is a big sign that you've been pushing it."

"I didn't look all that well to begin with," Al grumbled, sagging back into his bed and wiping at his mouth.

"Touché." Ray nudged the wheelchair back into the room. "Feel like going somewhere to forget about it, and do me a favor at the same time?"

Al blinked. "Favor?"

"Yeah. Trust me; I think you'll like it." Taking down the guard on Al's bed, he helped the boy back into the wheelchair. "And I think you could do with something adorable to look at, once we get you cleaned up."

0o0o0

After changing into a new pair of pajamas and cleaning up some, Al held his breath, eyes gone wide in awe at the little miracle lying in the box before him. "She's so small," he whispered; face nearly pressed against the warm, clear material before him.

Ray's voice drifted over his head, much quieter than his usual joking tone. "Yeah, I know. Her mom gave birth after only six months, and she's a crack baby, so it didn't help her growth much."

"Crack baby?" Al asked, smiling as the girl's tiny fist rose up.

His nurse sighed, reaching in one of the side holes to gently stroke the girl's other hand. "Her mother was addicted to cocaine. Gave birth and ran off as soon as we weren't looking."

Thinking of anyone willingly doing anything damaging to their unborn child made Al feel slightly ill again. "That's horrible," he whispered. Now that Ray had mentioned something was wrong with her, he could see the slight deformities in the girl's skull, how she would occasionally shake for no reason. It made him want to cry for her.

"Yeah, I know. There are about four babies like this here; ones whose mothers were crack heads, or just didn't want them and abandoned them." Ray smiled down at Al, and patted his head gently. "We get volunteers sometimes, to come and touch or hold them, but they don't come often enough."

The thought of getting to hold little babies, especially ones who needed comfort as much as he did, brought a smile back to his face. "Can I volunteer? Would they let me?"

Ray smirked. "Why do you think I brought you? It'd be good for them, and it'd keep you from being bored off your butt." He motioned towards the holes in the box. "Go ahead and touch her if you want; it's why I had you wash your hands thoroughly before we came. Be gentle though."

Al gingerly reached into the box and stroked the girl's shin; she squirmed and kicked, miniscule lips smacking together. Al flashed back to the birth of another girl, and couldn't help but grin like a maniac. _I can feel this one, Brother. You were right; they __**are**__ soft at this age._

Ray laughed quietly at the look on the boy's face. "I'll list you as a daily patient volunteer, 'kay, Tiger?" When the boy didn't respond, Ray chuckled and left the room to take care of it, letting the kid stay with little Alexis for the time being.

0o0o0

_Her name is Alexis_, Al thought. _She has a name and she has a soul, but she's all alone._ He thought about how scared he was when his mother died and he at least had his brother. The very idea of being this small, and this alone… with no one, chilled him and broke his heart.

_I won't let you be alone_, he thought to the tiny infant. _I'll be here as much as I can._

Al couldn't stop staring at the small person resting in front of him, one of his fingers gently stroking an impossibly tiny hand. _She's so small_, he thought for the hundredth time. _I could hold her in the palm of my hand._

"Mmkay, Tiger," came Ray's voice from the door. "It's time for dinner, and you should really get some more rest, so it's time to go." He chuckled wryly. "Though after the spewing chunks incident, I think you're on liquids for a bit."

It took a moment for Al to register Ray's voice. "Oh... okay. Can I come back later?"

The nurse grinned, gently ruffling the tuft of Al's hair that wasn't pinned down by the gauze around his head. "Maybe tomorrow. You really need to get some rest. You've had an interesting day."

"All right." Al gently stroked the little girl's hand one more time, then settled back into the wheelchair. "Since you're my chauffer..."

"Right, right. 'Home, James' and all that rot." Ray grinned cheerily and started pushing the chair. "Let's go get some grub."

0o0o0

**5:05pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

To anyone who was looking, he would have seemed to be just another transient taking a short-cut through the properties that abutted each other. There was nothing impressive about him, really. He was tall, with long sandy hair pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore glasses. The goatee and mustache looked to be in need of a trim, but it was to be expected with someone like Singer.

Most people who had land in the area didn't worry too much about transients, as long as they didn't cause any trouble and just kept moving. Not even the faded fatigues and worn army boots would have garnered a second look. The olive-drab duffle with the inked in symbols and fetishes might have raised an eyebrow, but not because of what they were (It was Oklahoma, after all; Native Americans proudly showing off their heritage was hardly unusual), but because of the person who was carrying it. Singer hardly looked like he was a part of any tribe.

Had anyone been watching when he vaulted gracefully over a barbed-wire fence and sit cross-legged on the ground a few yards away, they might've given him some sound advice and told him to keep moving.

Had they seen what happened next, they would have grabbed the 20-gauge.

Singer pulled a small buckskin pouch from the duffle. The drawstring was decorated with an elk fetish and an eagle feather. He'd been harassed about the feather on more than one occasion over the past few years; possessing one was illegal… except for a tiny minority of people. He was one of them.

Within that pouch were several reed flutes of varying lengths and widths; all of them hand-made by him. He selected one, cleared his mind of all thought, and began to play. The tune was haunting; punctuated by breaths and trills, and not patterned in any school of music. This was playing to Father Sky and Mother Earth. A sound that came from the soul and asked to be shown the answer.

Moments passed, and the air around him became taught with anticipation. Soon that air in front of him began to waver, like heat monkeys hovering over asphalt in August. The tone of the flute changed; another question asked, and a butterfly lit gracefully on the end of the flute. Singer knew it wasn't native to the area. He wondered if it was native to the US at all. It had velvet black wings tipped in white on the bottom, with vivid red patches on the upper wings. It was a glorious creature that held no fear for the man with the flute.

Singer stopped playing and regarded the butterfly in silence. In turn, the butterfly regarded him. As he allowed himself to be examined by the insect he pondered the wisdom of the butterfly. _The power of the whirlwind, reincarnation, transformation, transmutation, and magic. The soul who crossed this gate is guided by the creature in front of me. This creature is not from here, but from across a vast distance._

A breeze ruffled Singer's hair and rattled the beads holding the eagle feather against the fetish on the leather bag. He did not cross alone, either.

When he learned all he needed to learn here, the butterfly rose from the end of his flute and then faded in a wisp of smoke.

Singer packed away his flute and shouldered the duffle as he got to his feet. His journey was not over yet. In fact, it was just beginning.

0o0o0

**Apr 24 2006, 9:54 PM**

**Heist wrote:**

_Okay, officially panicking. Ducks and Ms. Reilly Hellhag (-Pandora-) NEVER stay offline this long. I mean, the HELL? _

…_..IS YOU BREATHING? _

_----_

"_Do not try to live forever. You will not succeed." George Bernard Shaw_

_-------------------_

**Apr 24 2006, 11:26 PM**

_The DuckLord wrote:_

_we is breathing!_

_sorry H. had a bit of a snafu, lost championship title: gamer god. fun times. and don't worry. all okay, M included. we have company. ask later. _

_and looking for somebody. keep an eye out for weird shit. really weird._

_----_

_ass pwnzed in soulcalibur. shame!_

_-------------------_

**Apr 24 2006, 11:45 PM**

_Heist wrote:_

_Tuckandroll, you unmitigated asshead!_

_You guys scared the ubercrap outta me! I thought died or something equally horrific, like getting mauled by deer. (I read this thing last year about horny deer and I swear I'm NEVER going outside again.) Anyway, what happened? You guys get hit by the Terminator or something? I was right, wasn't I? WASN'T I??_

_Anyway, now that you aren't killing me dead with panic attacks like the literary Mrs. Bennet, you wanna pass along to M that something's up with the leylines? They're… rippling, I think, really big ripples on an earth-energy pond that hit each other and bounce back and ripple all over the place. I'm going on a roadtrip next week to do some triangulation, and I'll be swinging down through Arkansas around Monday so I can pick up Mandar. (She's doing some kinda project with Geog. and her GIS courses. shrugs) You wanna meet up somewhere, swap trade secrets and stuff before I die by X-Files junkie?_

_Get back to me any time. I'll be on all night. And I caught your search protocol earlier. What the hell is up with that? _

_----_

"_A CURSE: May your soul be forever tormented by fire and your bones be dug up by dogs and dragged through the streets of Minneapolis." Garrison Keillor_

_-------------------_

**Apr 25 2006, 2:01 AM**

_The DuckLord wrote:_

_ummmmmmmm... yeah, actually, we do have the terminator. freakin sweet man. he's a lot shorter than you'd think. comps ph34r him!_

_just ignore the search. it's quiet, i don't want it getting too far out, no big attention or anything. and H. arkansas? for shame. _

_----_

_espresso machine within my needy grasp!_

_-------------------_

**Apr 25 2006, 12:52 PM**

_Heist wrote:_

_Shut up, Tuckandroll. You're still an asshead. And you are showing up if I have to call your mother to make you do it. I still have her phone number, Ducks. Do you want that kind of tragedy on your hands? I submit that you do not._

_I expect the terms of your unconditional surrender no later than midnight tonight._

_P.S. I'd love to meet whoever killed you at Soul Calibur. He (or she, please tell me it's a she) is a god among mortals._

_----_

"_Defeat is worse than death because you have to live with defeat." Bill Musselman_

_-------------------_

**Apr 25 2006, 4:10 PM**

_The DuckLord wrote:_

_fine. you win. arkansas. tho I'd rather be roasted over mulder and scully's ashes by mandar. see you monday. _

_p.s. that threat sucks. you call my mother and i call yours. equivalent exchange, beeyotch!_

_p.s.s. it's a he. his name's ed._

_----_

_heist is the devil._

_-------------------_


	6. Ch 5 Insomnia

"**Insomnia"**

**Arc One: Chapter Five**

**Balance of Power**

**Apr 28 2006, 7:12 AM**

**Heist wrote:**

_I heard through the grapevine that the Ghostbusters were getting together tonight. Any truth to that rumor?_

_And Tuckandroll, get in contact. Soon. I'm having a few problems with my travel arrangements, and we need to power-powwow on the boards._

_----_

"_Right in the middle of Prague, Wenceslaus Square, there's this guy throwing up. And then this other guy comes along, takes a look at him, shakes his head, and says, 'I know exactly what you mean.'" Milan Kundera_

_Life is the suck, man!_

_-------------------_

0o0o0

**April 28, 2006 – 7:35pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Al was literally beginning to fidget. A lead ball of anxiety settled in the pit of his stomach as he waited outside the neo-natal unit, listening the low, urgent voices as the staff fought to coax Alexis back to this side of life.

Four days so far. Four long, boring days in the hospital with nothing to do but worry about Ed and what his own fate was going to be. The constant monotony of mindless drivel on the TeeVee threatened to kill his brain-cells; the execrable drivel in the romance novels the nurses left for him to read threatened to rot his teeth; the other children on the floor were either too sick to leave their beds, or were too wrapped up in their own little worlds to offer any stimulation.

He was 'the quiet one' of the family. Al could remain still for long periods of time, even after getting his body back. A habit he never bothered to break from his years as a soul bound to armor. But his mind was never still. He was always working something out in his head.

Except for now. There really wasn't much he could do, but wait and heal.

Al's only reprieve from the slow-death by boredom was when Ray fetched him to visit the neo-natal unit. At least there he felt like he was accomplishing something. A couple of the babies he could hold and he'd sing his favorite lullabies to them. Softly, barely above a whisper. Squirming, crying infants desperately lost and alone… often in pain… would calm in his arms and fall asleep. In turn, they calmed him. Even to the point he dozed off a couple of times, himself.

Ray found him like that one time and teased him about what a good father he would be. Mentally, Al was exceptionally proud of the idea and took it as a compliment.

Alexis was his favorite though. The tiniest infant had the hardest road ahead of her, and she needed love the most, in Al's opinion. He spent the most of his far too short time with her, lightly stroking her through the box, and telling her stories, or singing lullabies. She was too small and too sick to be held; but Al made up for that as best he could.

The neo-natal nurses warned him against getting too attached to her. Chances were, she wouldn't thrive. But when she weakly clasped his finger in response to his light stroke, a thrill of hope shot through him and he just _knew_ that this time, they would be wrong.

They _had_ to be.

Even when Ray showed up unexpectedly with a wheelchair, a grim look on his face, and hurried him to the neo-natal unit, Al refused to consider that Alexis wasn't going to live. He wasn't one to ever think one baby deserved to live more than another, but it was just too cruel to think that the tiny infant would have been born, just to suffer, and die so soon after. With no one. Alone.

The sudden silence from the other side of the door scared him more than the urgent voices had before. And when Ray stepped into the hall, Al knew.

He swallowed and fought for control; but he felt like he would crumble with just a light touch.

"Do you want to say goodbye, Tiger?" Ray asked softly.

Al couldn't speak. If he did, he would start crying. He nodded silently.

0o0o0

Al tried to keep the tears back, reaching in to stroke the small girl's hand once more. It felt cool and pliant, like the rubber that had once hidden the old prosthetics his brother had used in Germany; before Winry gave him new automail. The lack of warmth caused tears to threaten to spill down his cheeks again.

_"You can't bring back a dead human."_

The words echoed dully in his head, as he remembered another hand, the life abruptly taken from it as well.

_"We're humans. Tiny, insignificant humans, who couldn't even save a little girl..."_

Al hadn't really, truly grasped that concept the way his brother had. Until now. And never had those words seemed as true as they did at this moment.

An insane thought flitted across his mind, and he vaguely wondered if he'd be able to do it. If he really could bring back this little person, who had barely gotten a chance at breathing, let alone life...

A large hand descended onto Al's head, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. "She was in a lot of pain, you know," Ray whispered, stroking the portion of Al's hair that wasn't swathed in gauze. "There wasn't a whole lot we could do for her. But I think..." his voice drifted off, his gaze dropping down to Al. "...I think she knew someone cared about her, before she died."

Al sighed deeply, letting his hand fall from the child's. _I'm sorry_, he thought quietly, swallowing back tears that threatened to choke him. _It wouldn't help you any, would it?_

"How could anyone do that to a child, Ray?" he choked. Anger mingled with grief over the needless death. "How could anyone be so selfish that they'd screw up their child like that?"

"There are a lot of fucked up people in this world, Tiger. I wish I could figure them out, too; maybe then I could help them with what got them addicted in the first place." The large nurse knelt by Al, looking into the box as well. "They don't start the addiction just because, kid; they start because they need to forget how much their life sucks, or how much it's messed up, or to forget something that still haunts them. And they reach a point where they just can't quit, no matter who else it hurts." Ray sighed heavily, then straightened up. "I'm going to inform the maternity nurses that you're done, okay? Unless you want to visit some of the other babies?"

Al gazed at the still form in front of him, calmly wiping away the tears on his lashes with the back of his hand. His expression grew firmer, though the haunted look didn't quite leave him. _They may die soon, Brother_, he thought, _but at least I'm going to let them know that someone cares if they do or not._

"I want to go see the others."

Ray smiled gently. "There's my Tiger. C'mon; we'll get you some clean scrubs."

A small smile worked its way onto Al's face. "Okay."

0o0o0

Reilly was in the garage trimming herbs to dry when Ed tromped in. He was scowling so hard she feared that his face would disappear in on itself if he wasn't careful. It was all she could do to keep from giggling at the sight. It was especially amusing to her, because the grow lights to her hydroponics cast sharp shadows and only managed to make the creases in the young man's face all the more pronounced.

Something had him tied up in knots; and Reilly suspected it had something to do with the noise of people arriving a moment ago. There was an investigation scheduled for tonight and she had a feeling that it was some of the team that had arrived.

"Let me guess," she said. "The Ghost Busters just showed up?"

Ed started to say something, stopped, waved a hand back at the door, gaped like a grounded fish, winced, screwed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose. All the while Reilly watched, her amusement growing.

"Ed," she finally said. "Do you have fevers with those fits?"

He pointed back at the door and stammered, "That… that… woman…" Then he proceeded to turn beet red and go silent.

"Ah, I see you met Kitten," Reilly said with a chuckle.

"Do you know what she said to me?!"

"Nice boots, wanna fuck?"

It shouldn't have been possible for anyone to get that red without having an aneurysm, but Ed looked like he wasn't in any serious danger… except to his dignity.

"I… I'm not even wearing boots!" he squeaked and waved his arms, as though that was the whole point and not his extreme embarrassment over the blatant proposition.

Reilly snickered and stepped past him to go inside. "Relax, Ed. It's a standard Kitten greeting when she meets a cute guy. Or girl, for that matter. Take it as a compliment."

She stopped with her hand on the door and looked back. "You going to stay in here and sulk? Or would you like to join us tonight?"

Ed faced her with a mildly disgusted twist to his lips. "I don't believe in that shit, Reilly."

She smiled hugely. "I know, which is why you'd be perfect."

At the look of total confusion on his face, she added. "You could be a control."

His brows shot up and he was suddenly a lot more interested. Reilly nodded, and jerked her head toward the inside of the house. "C'mon. I'll give you a big stick to keep Kitten at bay."

0o0o0

**8:32pm**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Ducky was driving through heavy Friday night traffic when his cellphone barked. He sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing who was calling. He really didn't want to talk to her right now, he had other things on his mind; but he knew if he didn't answer, his mother would keep calling until he did.

"Hey, Mom," he said as he fumbled the cell in one hand and jerked the wheel to the left to avoid a moron trying to nose his way into his lane.

He listened as his mother rattled on; rolling his eyes so much he wondered if they'd roll out of his head this time. He loved his mother dearly, but her timing always left something to be desired. He supposed it had more to do with the fact that the woman could never quite understand he was busier at night than he was during the day. That was just not normal in her opinion, and she didn't send him through college for five years just so he could use his degree as wall-art and not do anything with it. He needed to get a real job after all. His freelance work was not steady; and how was he going to support a wife and children if he couldn't count on that weekly paycheck with all the benefits a real job offered?

"Mom," he said when he could finally get a word in edge-wise. "Was there a point to all this?"

He flinched and yanked the phone from his ear. "Sorry, Mom. I'm just busy right now." He paused and let her continue on, then he decided it was time to interrupt her again, or she'd go off on a tangent. "No, Mom… I'm working… Yes, Mother, for Tom…" He slammed on the brakes as the car in front of him stopped suddenly for no discernable reason. "Yeah, I'm driving. No, I'm not trying to be rude; I'm just surrounded by idiots…" He scowled as he listened longer. "When? Next month? Damn… Sorry! Sorry! I'll watch my mouth, Mom. It just slipped out… Family reunion? Man, I can't make it. Not next month. No, Mom. My schedule's packed. No, Mom, I can't get out of any of it, I made commitments. Yeah, I know. Give them all my love. Especially Gramps. Love you too, Mom. Bye."

He shut off the phone and sighed. A little bit of guilt nagged at him over the little white lie. He couldn't stand those family reunions. Hell, he couldn't stand most of his family. But he did love his grandfather and he worried that he might not get to see him again before the old man died. The old fart had much the same attitude over those family reunions as he did. Hell the old man had the same opinion over most of the family. He considered most of them spoiled, whiney twits. Of course that tough old bastard had lived through hell, too. He'd even managed to escape Germany during the war.

_I need to take a road trip soon, he thought._

0o0o0

**April 29, 2006 – 1:07am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Ray knew he should really go home and get some sleep. He'd had a long day, his shift ending at eleven, and when he wasn't checking on patients he was helping with the myriad emergencies that had come through the sliding doors all day.

Yet here he was, at one in the morning, watching Tiger saw logs. A soft chuckle escaped his throat, and Ray leaned back. _He's a nice kid, and sweet as hell to little kids_, he thought, long legs stretching in front of him in an attempt to get comfortable.

It was Tiger making a noise that made him sit up. Ray was surprised; after Alexis dying and then spending several hours with the infants left alive, he'd expected the poor boy to hit the pillow and snore until breakfast. He got up and leaned over the bed, trying to catch what the boy was saying.

"Mom... I'm so sorry... sorry... no, mom... come back..."

Ray raised an eyebrow in surprise. _So he does remember_, he thought, reaching out to smooth the stubborn cowlick the kid had. _I wonder what happened_.

Tiger didn't react to Ray's hand; instead, he seemed to go deeper into the memory. "…you sure we should… no one's ever… done this right…"

The large nurse blinked, peering closer at the boy. _What is he reliving?_ he wondered, growing more worried as the half-coherent mutterings.

"Brother… something's… going wrong…" Ray blinked. _He has a brother?_ he thought. The thought wasn't allowed to continue for long, though, as Tiger began to sweat, his face contorting in pain as his hands clenched unconsciously. "Edward… Brother! Brother! Brother, please!"

The half-scream, half-cry that ripped from the boy's throat startled Ray, and he immediately tried to calm the boy down, shushing and patting the kid as he gasped and cried. "Shh, Tiger, it's okay, it's okay. Shh. You're fine," Ray murmured quietly to the boy, one hand gently stroking the hair not confined in the light bandage around his head. "I'm here, you're fine, nothing's wrong. Shhhh."

It took several moments, but the pain and anguish on the kid's face gradually subsided. "Mmkay…. brother..." he murmured, the frown-lines relaxing into a peaceful look. "Night Ed..."

Relieved that Tiger was going back to sleep, Ray settled back in the chair, hoping none of the other nurses had heard that outburst. _Man, this just keeps getting weirder and weirder... Kid probably has a good reason for lying. I just hope he explains it to me sometime..._

Outside the door, a hand lowered itself, and the woman standing at the door turned and left.

0o0o0

**Apr 29 2006, 3:39 AM**

**DeadSexKitten wrote:**

_awwwww man it was great! was shit awesome. we got a lot of great data from this one old place, and i got to meet M's houseguest. name is ed? he's the hottness. rargh. rub me down with warm oil and purr, soo yummy. a little twitchy though, got all hot and bothered when i cornered him. only problem is he's a little on the short side…. not that it's a prob, i just like my boys on the taller side's all._

_and sorry to hear about the sick. that bad?_

_----_

_nice boots. wanna fuck?_

_-------------------_

**Apr 29 2006, 4:01 AM**

**Heist wrote:**

_Yo, Kit, when I was trolling for info, I meant __**useful**__ info. Exhibit A: the siggie._

_And in answer to the question, it was a twenty-four hour bug, and everyone got it but me. That kinda thing happens when the fam goes new places. Vacations the sadness._

…_BTW, is this the Ed that kicked Tuckandroll's ass at Soul Calibur?_

_----_

"_If you have something important to say, for God's sake start at the end." Sarah Jeannette Duncan_

_-------------------_

**Apr 29 2006, 4:58 AM**

**-Pandora- wrote:**

_Long time no see girl. Thought I'd check in on the boards, and there you were all spazzing out. And apparently exposed to colossal sickness. Yikes!_

_Thought I'd set the record straight before I went to bed that yes, I have a new houseguest, and yes, he is the same Ed that killed Ducky in Soul Calibur. And he's only twitchy because Kitten was being herself. Poor kid… thought he'd keel over right there._

_I'll have more for you later, but I'm too wiped out from tonight. And no, it's not what you're thinking, you dirty-minded psycho. _

_----_

"_May you live in interesting times?" I'd say these are pretty damned interesting…_

_-------------------_

**Apr 29 2006, 5:00 AM**

**Heist wrote:**

_I have no idea what you're talking about… nefarious grin_

_----_

"_She had the Midas touch. Everything she touched turned into a muffler." Lisa Smerling_

_Gawd, don't I wish…_

_-------------------_

0o0o0

**5:02am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Ed's eyes snapped open and his heart raced. Something had startled him out of his sleep, but as he listened nothing set off any alarms. He was sleeping dreamless for once, so he knew that wasn't it.

No light came through the lace curtains; clouds had gathered in the night, then. Ed could hear the creaking of the trees nearest the house in the gusting winds. Other than the normal sounds of the house settling, Ed heard nothing out of the ordinary. Not even Reilly's constant music or the tapping of her keyboard. _So she's in bed too_, he thought. He didn't have a clock in the room, but he had a somewhat decent timesense and he figured it to be around five a.m. There was nothing overtly out of place or odd, but Ed couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong regardless.

He sighed, and rolled his eyes. _Blame it on our little 'adventure'_, he thought. He had relented and joined Reilly and her crew of freaks in their little party at an old abandoned hotel. Most of the time, people were just wandering around with video cameras, tape recorders, and a slew of other instruments that Reilly hadn't bothered to explain to him. Two of the people on the team were supposedly 'sensitives', and would talk about the 'feelings' they'd get from each room. The rest of them would rattle off numbers and codes, and write in little notebooks.

Ed just spent most of his time there either bored senseless, or trying to avoid Kitten's advances.

After they'd called it a night at about two am, he sarcastically asked Reilly if they'd found anything. She only shrugged and said she wouldn't know until later, when they'd had a chance to analyze the data. Ed only snorted.

His feeling of disquiet started to grow as he tried to decipher the shadows in the corners of the room. Even with dark-adapted eyes, it seemed that those corners were just a little darker than normal. And it looked like those shadows writhed.

_Listened to too many 'ghost' stories tonight_, he thought. _I'm letting it get to me._

He laughed off his night-time imaginings and mentally scolded himself for even pondering the monsters under the bed. _You're not a little kid anymore_, he chided, as he attempted to roll over and put his back to the darkness. A sudden feeling of weakness swept over him and he felt himself falling rapidly back into the oblivion of sleep. His whole body felt heavy, and his eyes tried to close.

It was then he had the creeping sense that he was being watched and saw spilled-ink blackness crawl out of the corners and across the ceiling toward him. _What the hell?_ He fought to keep his eyes open and to move, but his body refused to obey. _Feels like I've been drugged_. The malevolence of the living shadow was a palpable thing that Ed could almost touch and it sickened him. _Like nothing but pure hate and anger made manifest._

He gritted his teeth, and kept trying to move, but the heaviness of his own body held him in place as his fear grew. _Fuck, what is this? Why can't I move?_ He was so weakened he couldn't call out. He panted with effort and filled his lungs to shout, but all that came out was a weak moan.

And the shadow rolled-writhed-tumbled closer. Across the ceiling, slowly… so slowly… Tendrils like matted hair, reached down… Searching… Sensing…

Ed continued to fight against the overwhelming desire to close his eyes. Something deep within him, some instinct told him if he let his eyes close, that living shadow would have him. Reilly, he screamed in his mind, and desperately wanted to scream aloud. _Reilly!_ _Goddamnit! What is this thing coming after me? Get your ass in here, you old hag and get it out of here!_

The tendrils slowly came together, like they'd finished their search, and found their target… And the target was Ed. They blended together and became one large, angry, malevolent tendril that hung in the air right over Ed as though it were waiting for something.

Then in the space of a heartbeat it pulled back, hesitated, then launched itself right at him.

Ed screamed.

In the same instant, his door banged open and bright light painfully flooded his dark-adapted eyes as Reilly flipped the switch. "If you're not here in the name of light, then in the name of light begone!" she shouted as she threw an odious-smelling powder around the room.

Some of the powder was snorted when Ed inhaled and he flailed as he covered his face and tried to dodge any more flying about the room. His weakness was instantly gone and he was now wide awake; sitting up and crab-crawling until his back slammed up against the headboard. He gulped, but couldn't seem to get enough air to breathe as he waved a hand and pointed at the center of the room where Reilly was now standing. "Wh- what in the holy hell was that?!"

Reilly seemed intent on studying the corner the shadow had emerged from, and answered distractedly. "Not really sure, to be honest. I just call them 'Shadows'."

Ed's breathing started to come under gradual control and the absurdity of the situation grew clear. "Sh… shadows?"

Reilly quirked a brow at him and smirked. "You got a better name?" She gave him an appraising once-over with a glance, then nodded. "Looks like it didn't touch you."

She sighed and suddenly looked tired. She sunk down at the foot of Ed's bed and ran her fingers through the tangle of curls. "Sorry about that." She cast an embarrassed look at him, then away again. "I guess we all have our dirty little secrets. You just met one of mine."

She finally met his eyes again. Hers were dark and haunted. "We're in trouble, Ed."

He mulled it over in his mind a long moment. Trouble was an understatement if he was going to have to deal with those shadows anymore, but he didn't think that was what she was talking about. "What do you mean?" he asked, when it looked like she wasn't going to elaborate.

She shrugged, staring off into nothingness. "The shadows don't manifest unless something is going to happen." She focused on him for a long, silent moment; studying him. He met her gaze, calmly.

About the time he started feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass, she spoke again. "This is the first time they've gone after someone other than me, too."

Ed swallowed nervously. Two years ago, if Reilly had been telling him this, he'd laugh… but that was before he knew Noah. "Do you know what's going to happen?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, Ed. All I know is that the strength of the shadows is a barometer of just how bad the situation is going to be."

Ed sneezed and winced. "Ugh! And what the hell was that stuff you threw around?"

She held up a small vial that was still half-full of reddish powder, and said, "This? Not entirely certain what's in it. Ducky puts it together for me. It smells like ass, but it does what I want."

He rubbed at his nose and grimaced. "Ass is right. I don't think I'm ever going to get rid of that—" He sneezed again, then sniffled. "—smell."

0o0o0

The nightmares were worse than they had been in a very long time. Memories blended with imagery and morphed into horrors. His mother, the funeral, his heartbreak and tears. Smoke clearing to reveal something that wasn't human and mewling like a sick, weak infant.

And blood… so much blood.

So many times, he felt the comforting weight of a tiny infant in his arms –a moment of calm and peace in the maelstrom of pain and fear— only to hear it begin to shriek in terror as an arm and a leg would be ripped from it by tiny incorporeal hands and cover him in blood; and the feeling of complete helplessness as the infant died in his arms.

Al fought with the nightmares… fought to wake up; but each time he thought he had broken the surface of oblivion and gulped the sweet breath of reality, he would sink right back down into hell. The lines between consciousness and nightmares became blurred. He thought he'd seen Ray next to him once; felt a warm hand on his forehead comforting him. He thought Ed had come to save him from the horrors once or twice, even.

Peace finally came as the sky grayed toward morning, riding a gentle wave of the sound of a flute. Another brief moment when he thought he might be awake revealed a tall, sandy-haired man squatting in the darkest corner, playing the flute.

The music… so soothing and peaceful… stopped; and Al mourned the loss.

The stranger studied him a moment, then nodded. "_Wakhan Thánka níci un_," he said softly, then started to play again. Al drifted back to sleep without fear this time. He knew the nightmares were through for the night.

0o0o0

Ed stared down into his coffee watching the images of people he's known, and would never see again, drift across the surface of the dark liquid. Mustang, Havoc, Auntie Pinako, Winry… Noah. Neither Reilly, nor himself were going to be able to go back to sleep after the shadows attacked.

They'd talked. Really talked.

Ed had spent nearly a week in this house with this stranger, practically being ignored as he was left to figure out this world on his own ("Just keep your hands off the computers until we can figure out what to do about that metal hand of yours," she insisted). During the day, he was left entirely alone while she went to work; and he had choices of books he had no desire to read, or shows on the TV that threatened to melt his brain with inanity. At least the books were entertaining, if for no other reason than he could poke fun at the theories.

He didn't just take up space, though. He gave something back in return for the trust she was offering by allowing him to be alone in her house. Of course, part of that was just self-preservation after nearly breaking his right foot yet again on the haphazard piles scattered through the living room. It was a slow and tedious process, but there was something that remotely resembled organization in the living room at this point. The books were even categorized in a way that even the librarians at the First Branch would be proud of.

And while his cooking skills wouldn't be considered gourmet, they were good enough. At least Reilly didn't complain. And it wasn't like his options in that department were severely limited. He still couldn't get over the amount of food she kept around. He was used to stopping by the market on a daily basis. Here, Reilly bought food to last awhile, and froze some of it. He understood the logic behind it, but freezing, or storing in the refrigerator for several days seemed to take away some of the flavor, in his opinion.

There just wasn't much in the way of talking between them when they were together. There was banter, sarcasm, teasing and a couple of shouting matches; but nothing that had any meat to it. More often than not, it was over her superstitions and his logic; or just Reilly looking for ways to push his buttons, and Ed returning the favor.

One subject that never seemed to come up again was the leylines and sacred places theory she had. Not after the first one, when he'd shown her just how skeptical he really was. He wondered if perhaps he'd pissed her off, and felt chagrined about his behavior; but she didn't act like she was upset. In fact the atmosphere was comfortable between them even when it seemed like they were trying to get under each other's skin. It was more like she'd been waiting for him to be ready to talk.

Or perhaps ready to listen.

She explained to him how she had known he'd come through the gate, and some of her other little 'talents'. Her empathy bordering on telepathy with people she was emotionally close to, her affinity for the Gates, the shadows. None of these things were consistent or predictable for her. They occurred spontaneously. Sporadically. In exchange, he told her about crossing the gate, the Thule Organization, and Noah and her abilities; and how he thought of it as nothing but superstition until…

"She told me something about myself that no one else knew," he said softly. "No one could possibly know, because it was another time. Another place."

"The other world you came from originally?" Reilly asked.

Ed looked up from the coffee, and nodded. "The Thule Organization called it Shambala. But it's not any different from this world. People are the same there as they are here."

Reilly poured herself another cup of coffee, and leaned back against the counter. She was silent a long moment; thoughtful. She didn't look up from her cup when she finally spoke again. "They opened a gate, didn't they?"

Ed should have been more surprised than he was, but he was beyond that at this point. Reilly was able to accept the strangeness of the gates, the possibility of ghosts, and unexplainable mental abilities. He briefly wondered what her reaction would be to alchemy. _But no_, he thought. _That might be pushing it._

"Their method isn't one I'd recommend," he said wryly and decided to leave it at that. He was silently grateful that she respected that desire and didn't press for more information.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," she said.

"Eh?"

Reilly chuckled, and joined Ed at the table. "Hamlet," she said. "One of my favorite plays by Shakespeare. Hamlet said that after seeing the ghost of his father."

Ed rolled his eyes. "You and your ghosts."

She snorted and sipped at her coffee. "Yeah, yeah. And you don't believe a bit of it."

She stared down into her cup for a long moment, like she was searching for the best words to use. Ed waited patiently, willing to set his skepticism aside for once.

"There are things we cannot explain with the science we have available," she finally said. She looked up at Ed. "Ethereal, incorporeal. They don't have a smell or taste. They're not solid; you can't touch them. But they exist. Perhaps they exist because of belief. Faith, if you will."

Ed stared at her with a cynical twist to his lips, and she chuckled. "I said faith, Ed. Not religion. The power of our minds and the strength of our faith in something might be what make it real."

"Like your shadows?"

She nodded. "And the gates. I had nothing quantifiable by any science we have today. But I knew they existed. I had faith that they existed."

"Well, it's pretty obvious that they're real," Ed said. "I'm here, after all."

"True. But here's the rub. Do I have faith in the existence of those gates because they already are? Or do the gates exist because my faith in them made them?"

"You mean, which came first? The chicken or the egg?" Ed asked, with a smirk.

"That question has been answered," Reilly said with a snicker. "Birds evolved from dinosaurs. Hence, a strange mutation caused a chicken to hatch from the egg of something that wasn't a chicken."

"I was being philosophical," Ed growled.

"Schrödinger's cat would probably be a better argument, then."

"Pardon?"

Reilly reached across the table and tilted Ed's cup. "Better get more coffee. You'll need it," she said with a snicker.

Ed gave her a wary look, but did as she suggested. After he sat back down, she explained the theory to him. He had been able to follow along and was pleasantly surprised to discover a sharp mind underneath all the spiritual mumbo-jumbo she seemed to believe in. She suddenly went from being a protector, to a colleague of a sort. Someone who might actually be able to argue real scientific theory with him, and hold her own in the debate. Maybe even give him a real challenge.

At the end, she asked him, "So, is the cat alive? Or is it dead?"

He gave her a fierce grin. "Theoretically, until that box is opened, it's both. But what the hell does that have to do with faith?"

"Not a goddamned thing if taken as it was originally intended; a thinking exercise in quantum mechanics." She shrugged. "But if used as a philosophical thinking exercise, the possibility of 'if' comes into play. If the cat is both alive and dead before the box is opened, how much influence does faith have on the result?"

Ed shook his head. "Does everyone around here talk in circles?"

Reilly grinned. "Every chance we get." She got up from the table, and set her cup in the sink. "And you'll want to dig up something you're willing to wear in public." She glanced over and gave him an appraising look. "You need clothes that fit you."

Ed blinked at that. _Clothes?_ Admittedly, the clothes Tom had loaned him didn't exactly fit and they certainly weren't his style, but they covered him and he was more than grateful for them. Now Reilly was going to take him out and buy him some that fit?

"Why are you doing this?"

She smiled and gave him a small shrug. "It's the right thing to do, Ed."

He knew that she wasn't going to elaborate any further, so he got up and headed out of the kitchen. At the doorway, he hesitated. There was something he needed to say, and now was as good a time as any. He glanced back at the back of the woman as she was running water into the sink. "Reilly?"

She glanced up, questioningly.

"I… I'm sorry about the other day," he said softly. "I was an ass."

For some reason Ed couldn't fathom, she seemed to find this mildly humorous. "Thank you," he said, refusing to allow her look to get to him this time. "For everything."

"You're welcome," she said gently. "And Ed?"

He stopped and faced her again; and now he was confused that her smile was even broader.

"I'd rather you were an ass, than a wimp. I don't take too kindly to people who think they have to cow down to me. It makes me suspicious."

Now it was Ed's turn to grin, and he let a little fang show. "I'll try to remember that."

0o0o0

**Apr 29 2006, 8:46 AM**

**The DuckLord wrote:**

_what she isn't telling you is that every night just after dinner, she takes her new toy-boy out to the shed and plays time-traveling scifi dominatrix. real kinky stuff._

_----_

_coffee is life._

_-------------------_

**Apr 29 2006, 9:11 AM**

**-Pandora- wrote:**

_Ha ha, Ducky. Very funny. Someday, when I've had a less difficult night, I will get you back. You will not see it coming. Your ass will be mine, and you will not like it. There will be pain!_

_It is going to be a LONG day._

_----_

"_May you live in interesting times?" I'd say these are pretty damned interesting…_

_-------------------_

_A/N Schrödinger's cat: A cat is placed in a sealed box. Attached to the box is an apparatus containing a radioactive nucleus and a canister of poison gas. This apparatus is separated from the cat in such a way that the cat can in no way interfere with it. The experiment is set up so that there is exactly a 50 chance of the nucleus decaying in one hour. If the nucleus decays, it will emit a particle that triggers the apparatus, which opens the canister and kills the cat. If the nucleus does not decay, then the cat remains alive. According to quantum mechanics, the unobserved nucleus is described as a superposition (meaning it exists partly as each simultaneously) of "decayed nucleus" and "undecayed nucleus". However, when the box is opened the experimenter sees only a "decayed nucleus/dead cat" or an "undecayed nucleus/living cat."_


	7. Ch 6 Mrs Buttin er Butterworth

"**Mrs. Buttin—er Butterworth"**

**Arc One: Chapter Six**

**Balance of Power**

**April 29, 2006 – 10:45am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Edward goggled at the sheer number of cars on the streets and in the parking lot of the store. He'd grudgingly put on his seat belt before they left. It was the law, according to Reilly. After seeing the number of idiots who didn't pay attention, or were just plain rude in the short 5 mile trip from her house to this store, he was glad he did wear it.

He also developed a new respect for the old hag, after watching her calmly and deftly avoid several potential accidents. Her ability to predict another car about to do something stupid was downright uncanny.

"Is there something going on around here?" he'd asked as they crept through heavy traffic along the main boulevard.

"Huh?" she said, just barely glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"All these people driving somewhere."

Reilly snorted. "Nah. This is typical Saturday traffic. You should see this place when church lets out on Sundays." She visibly shuddered.

The parking lot was even worse. Ed thought getting off the streets alive would afford some measure of safety, but it was not to be. Reilly explained that since traffic laws didn't actually apply on private property, people forgot how to drive.

He believed it after she'd casually yanked him back by the collar a couple of times during the walk from the car to the store. People would back out of slots, and not even look where they were going, or damn near run a pedestrian over to get to a "good spot". Ed learned quickly that "good spots" meant as close to the store as possible. This also seemed to increase the danger as they got closer to the doors.

By the time they made it inside the store, Ed almost… _almost_… found a deity to thank.

Until he got a good look at the crowd.

"Two words, Reilly," he said, staring around him. "Freak show."

She laughed, and grabbed a cart. "Welcome to Wal-Mart, Ed," she said, and headed off.

He ran to catch up with her. "Hey! Don't get out of my sight, Damnit!"

"Then keep up," she shot over her shoulder with a wicked grin.

0o0o0

The photography studio manager was known as Mr. Holland or just plain Marc to all the people in town. An affable man in his late thirties, with sharp green eyes behind rectangular glasses, a singularly disobedient lock of black hair that constantly fell in his face, and a perpetual five o'clock shadow. He seemed to be especially popular with the women. Married or not; young, old, or something in between. Being a widower seemed to attract them like ants to a picnic.

It was a minor annoyance, since he was hardly interested. But it did help keep the studio busy. His employers liked that. He put up with it in his usual warm, friendly manner, and considered himself lucky to have the money coming in.

Besides, he loved the kids.

The studio was packed today. It usually was on a Saturday, but it was moreso with prom coming up. Instead of the cranky toddlers and infants that Holland had a natural skill for getting to smile, he was surrounded by surly, snarky teenagers. They took more skill, but he was good enough. He'd had quite a bit of practice with one prickly teenager in particular. Long ago.

He sighed and finished up the mid-shift register change. Sometimes memories of an old life would come unbidden and it would cause him to be a little less sparkling the rest of the day. He'd been feeling that way since he'd woken up shaking early this morning.

Dreams. Faces of people so far out of his reach that he sometimes wondered if they'd ever been real. The dreams came less often, now; but the intensity of being tuned inside out and twisted into knots when he had them was just as strong and painful as it had been from the beginning.

He grabbed the money bag to drop off before he went on break, but didn't really see what he was stuffing into it. He looked up and surveyed the crowd coming in the door near the studio. From the casual dress he saw of most of the customers, he knew things would be slowing down before long. His assistants could handle the rest of the formally dressed teens already there and waiting impatiently. Maybe he could sneak out early.

He barely registered the kid in baggy jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, and blond pony tail. Typical style, typical looks from the back. Popularly androgynous. He couldn't count all the girls (and boys, for that matter) in this town with long blond hair. His eyes skated right over the kid without thought.

He turned the keys to the register over to Maggie, his best assistant, and wove his way through the line waiting to get pictures taken. In the middle of the waiting area, he froze as the image of the kid flashed through his mind again. He didn't consciously notice before, but his brain did. The kid's hands had been stuffed into the pockets of the baggy jeans, but a hint of white cotton gloves and a small glint of metal peeked out. As soon as that fact sunk its teeth into his brain, he heard a voice that seemed painfully familiar yelling, "Hey! Don't get out of my sight, Damnit!"

Marc Holland, also known as Maes Hughes in another life, stopped breathing at that moment. His fingers went numb and he never noticed that he'd dropped the money bag when he spun and searched the crowd where he'd last seen the blond. _Impossible_, he thought; but his body moved of its own volition through complaining teens. As soon as he was free of the press of silks, satins, and cloying perfumes, he broke into a trot.

He skidded to a stop when he reached the wide promenade separating the grocery section with housewares and quickly scanned the milling crowd. He saw no sign of the blond, but he could have turned down an aisle. Hughes dodged around shoppers, looking down each junction. All the while, his brain was screaming at him that he couldn't possibly have seen who he thought he saw. Not here. Not now. Not in this world.

The rational part of his mind finally caught up to him when he stopped and leaned against the wall just inside the lay-away section at the back of the store. So did Maggie, whose young face was etched in worry. "Mr. Holland?"

Hughes didn't respond. That name wasn't his.

"Marc?" she said, as she gently touched his arm.

Hughes blinked. _Marc Holland. Right._ He took the couple steps necessary to reach the bench nearby and slowly sunk down into it. _My name is Marc Holland, and that was __**not**__ Edward Elric_, he reminded himself. He scrubbed at his face and fought the choking he felt. _That life is over. Something that I'll never see again except in dreams._

Maggie knelt down next to him and kept her hand on his arm, waiting silently while he struggled to get himself under control. Her eyes were soft with compassion and understanding. She knew he was a 'widower', after all. Everyone did.

When he finally looked at her; actually saw her, she smiled sadly. "You going to be okay, Marc?"

His smile was just as sad and more than a little embarrassed. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I thought I saw—" He shook his head. "I was chasing ghosts, Maggie. I'm sorry I worried you."

"Maybe you should take the rest of the day off," she suggested.

His brows shot up and he said, "And leave you with those kids?"

"I think I can handle a handful of spoiled teenagers," she said with a wicked grin.

Hughes knew she could, too. He'd seen it more than once. It was one of the reasons he liked keeping her on the staff. _Another time. Another place. Maybe…_

But he didn't want to start taking time off every time he thought he saw a ghost. It would become a nasty habit. He shook his head. "Thanks Maggie, but I'll be alright."

She gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was full of shit, then said, "Make you a deal. Take your break. If you're still looking puny, I'll get Susan to chase you out of here."

Hughes's eyes went wide in mock fear. Susan was the store manager and she ran the place with the skill of a General. Everyone loved her, but everyone also knew never to argue with the woman. "Oh Lord, please don't do that."

The look Maggie gave him told him that it was no idle threat. He sighed, and a smile closer to his usual warmth spread across his face. "I promise, if I'm not feeling better…"

Maggie nodded and got to her feet.

0o0o0

"Reilly, this is the kids section," Ed hissed through clenched teeth.

She calmly looked him up and down, and smirked. "Yeah? You need clothes that fit."

He scowled and grumbled, and Reilly threw up her hands in mild exasperation. "Look, I have no control over how a small-town Wal-Mart stocks things. And I had nothing to do with your genetics. Just find yourself some clothes you can live with, okay? And stay within your budget, please." She turned the cart and started to walk off.

"You're just gunna leave me here?" he asked, stricken.

She glanced back. With a gentle smile, she said, "You're an adult Edward. You don't need me hanging over you to make sure your clothes fit. I have other things to get. Like _food_." The last was said with no small amount of emphasis.

He just looked back at her, unblinking and unabashed.

Reilly chuckled and started off again.

Ed allowed himself a smile when she was out of sight. The woman got on his nerves. She was cantankerous, stubborn, opinionated, and diplomacy was not a part of her vocabulary. She had a strange sense of humour and Ed had apparently become her favorite victim. But she was spending her own money on clothes for him and she'd rallied her closest friends to help him find Al. And mixed in somewhere among her bizarre beliefs, there was knowledge of the gates that she was willing to share with him.

_Okay, so maybe the old hag wasn't so terrible after all._

Underwear was first on the list, and Ed found the boxers that were in his size-range. The selection left something to be desired, though. Mostly cartoon characters, from the looks of it. He sighed and kept digging. Surely there was at least a pair or two that were just… plain.

He felt a cart slip past a little close behind him, and then Reilly's voice in his ear. "Mrs. Buttinski at three o'clock. Don't look up, and don't make eye contact or she'll eat your soul."

Naturally, he looked up. _Eat my soul?!_

He caught sight of a small, skinny, pale woman in about her fifties, with a permanently pinched look to her face. She was aiming herself directly at Reilly, and Ed was nearly knocked over by the force of just her personality.

"Mary! Mary Reilly, wait a minute. I need to have a word with you."

Panicked, he turned to Reilly and saw her frozen to the spot. From his vantage point, he could see the pained wince on her face and the mouthed "_fuck_", on her lips.

An instant later, the soul-eater had caught up to Reilly and Ed saw her expression change from agony, to a smile so fake, Envy would be… well, envious. She turned that terribly phony smile on the soul-eater and said, "Mrs. Butterworth. What a surprise to see you here."

The old woman yanked Reilly down in a hug that had a lot more strength in it than was human and Ed only then realized that she was actually shorter than he was. The smile on Reilly's face faded for a moment and turned into a grimace. She was also fervently gesturing for Ed to leave. Escape while he had time.

Ed had a much better idea. He crossed his arms and leaned back with a mild smirk. _This is going to be entertaining_, he thought. Even if the look Reilly shot him before the soul-eater let her go promised retribution later. He had a feeling it was going to be well worth it.

When Reilly was upright, Mrs. Butterworth patted her cheeks. "Look at how pale you are, Mary. You know it's not good for your skin to spend so much time indoors, or running around with those freaky, gothy kids in the dark—"

"I'm allergic to sunlight," Reilly said, but the soul-eater apparently didn't hear, because she just continued on unabated.

"—Honestly, I don't understand why a nice girl like you wants to hang around with those Godless freaks anyway. You should be dating a nice man your own age—"

"There's nobody in this town I want to date," Reilly said. Again, not heard.

"—You should start coming to church, Mary. There are some nice available men there that would be happy to have you—"

Reilly's arms crossed. "_Have_ me?" she asked archly.

"—You're not getting any younger, you know. Why before you know it, you won't be able to have any children—"

"I don't want kids."

"—And that would be such a tragedy. A good Christian girl like yourself should be more involved in the church, too—"

"I'm Buddhist."

"—Oh nonsense! You're just going through a phase, Mary. You'll come back to the fold when you outgrow that—"

"It's been a 'phase' for twenty years, Mrs. Butterworth."

"—Honestly, I don't understand the attraction of playing with some heathen religion from the Far East, when you could find a wonderful life with a nice, homegrown Christian church—"

"Christianity started in the Middle East."

Ed tried to remain inconspicuous. He really tried. First his smile grew, and then he covered his mouth with a gloved left hand to muffle an escaped snicker; but his shoulders started to shake uncontrollably. Eventually his snickering became audible and continuous. He tried to cover it up with a fake cough, but it was useless at this point.

It also put him on the soul-eater's radar. She stopped in mid-ramble and blinked up at him. "Oh. Hello."

_Damnit. Caught._ He stifled the rest of his giggles, and nodded politely.

She blinked back at Reilly and said, "What an adorable boy! Is he a relative of yours?"

Reilly shot Ed a warning look when he started to seethe and said, "No. This young _man_ is a friend of mine." She gestured toward him, and said, "This is Edward Elric."

Mrs. Butterworth's spine snapped straight so quickly, Ed was sure he heard it crack. "Friend?! Isn't he a little… young for you?"

"I didn't know there was an age requirement for friendship, Mrs. Butterworth."

The soul-eater leaned in close to Reilly and said in a conspirational stage whisper, "Well, he looks like he's barely legal."

Reilly's eyes went wide in shock and she flushed a bright red. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I read Cosmopolitan too, Mary. I know that a modern woman your age reaches her peak and wants to play with those pretty boys for awhile—"

"What?" Ed squeaked, and felt his own face getting hot.

Reilly choked and coughed.

"—But you should really consider a man your own age. After all, what can you possibly talk about with someone so young? Oh sure, those young ones are raring to go again right away—"

Ed suddenly wished for the ground to open up and swallow him. And from the look on Reilly's face, she wanted the same thing for herself.

"—But a man your age would give you so much more. They have experience, and can last longer, you know—"

"M-mrs. Butterworth!"

Ed could see that not only was Reilly highly embarrassed at the turn the conversation had taken, but she was rapidly losing patience. He started looking around for a distraction. Any distraction. As much of a pain in the ass as she was, he just didn't have the heart to let her be tortured like this.

Especially if he had to suffer along side of her.

"—As a matter of fact, that lovely Mr. Holland in the picture studio is available, and he's just your age, too. He's a widower, you know. Such a tragedy; lost both the wife and the baby in a horrible accident. But he's so wonderful with children. He'd be perfect for you! In fact I believe he'll be at church tomorrow. We're having a pot-luck for singles after the service—"

"Excuse me, Mrs. Butterworth," Ed said. He lurched back when her attention turned to him. "Uh… I think I saw some gothy type over by the bakery trying to sell Satan to a couple of kids a minute ago."

"Oh! That's horrible! Why the management here should really do something about that."

Ed nodded enthusiastically. "You're right! It's awful how they're just stealing good Christian kid's souls like that." He pointed off in a random direction. "I think I saw the store manager going that way. I'll bet you could catch up and let him—"

He saw Reilly vigorously shake her head.

"—er, _her_ know about it."

"Good idea, young man!" the soul-eater said, and charged off in the direction Ed had pointed.

"Hurry," he called. "Before another soul is lost."

Reilly stared at him, agog. Then she slumped over the cart, and just laughed. "Oh my God!" she gasped. "That was bloody brilliant, Ed. I so owe you for that."

"Enough to take me somewhere else?" he asked. "I think I've had about as much of this freak show as I can deal with."

She gave him a lopsided grin, and jerked her head toward the exit. "Let's go. I'll buy you lunch."

0o0o0

"Maul?!" Ed asked. His eyes had gone wide as he stared around at all the different stores. The place was two floors high, bigger than any market he'd ever seen, and a cacophony of lights, sounds, and enticing aromas. He was silently grateful that Reilly had stopped at that Chinese buffet before they came here. He didn't think he could deal with the sensory overload on an empty stomach.

"Mall," Reilly corrected and Ed could barely hear the subtle difference in pronunciation. "Although, as cute as you are, I imagine that 'maul' might be apt too. At least Kitten seemed to think so."

Ed tore his eyes away from the hypnotic view and gave her a withering glare. It had absolutely no effect on her. Instead she pointed at a slick black panel with different colored squares and they walked over to it. When they got closer, he realized that it was a map of the place. "Meet me back here in about two hours," she said. "If you get lost, these things are all over the place."

"You're running off and leaving me again?"

Before she had a chance to answer, two teenaged girls paused as they were headed out and cast badly hidden glances at Ed. When he met their stares, they giggled uproariously and took off.

Completely baffled at the behavior, he looked at Reilly and was rewarded with a wicked grin from her. "Do I need to get you a big stick, Ed?"

He looked back at where the girls had taken off to with more than a little confusion and nervousness. "You might."

Reilly gave a low chuckle and turned, walking off. "Anyway, remember to stay in your budget. I'll see you later; I've got my own shopping to do."

Ed turned back around, surprised when Reilly had already disappeared into the mob of people. "Damnit, old hag, quit disappearing on me like that," he muttered under his breath. Sighing, he turned back to the directory. _First things first, Elric; let's go clothes shopping. Lessee…clothing stores…_

After studying the directory for a few moments, Ed realized something. Not one of the names of the stores gave him any idea as to what the stores sold. _Ah, well. Time for the old-fashioned way._

Picking a random direction, Ed sauntered off with his hands in his pockets. Hopefully, this experience wouldn't be too bad.

0o0o0

Ed rifled through the boxers on the rack, sighing in annoyance. This particular store was the third one he'd spotted for clothing, and he still hadn't found anything that really interested him. He'd found some socks in this place, thankfully, and was working on the other essentials. He'd look for shirts somewhere else.

"Jeez, this almost makes me glad Winry was a machine junky; if she'd dragged me into clothing stores, I may have had to shoot myself." Picking out a pair of black boxers, Ed blinked. "What are these made of?"

"Those are silk, sir."

Ed jumped and turned around, clutching the boxers in one hand. "Jeez, don't sneak up on a man like that," he snapped once he got his heart to stop clogging his throat.

The salesgirl in front of him couldn't have been much more than 16, with face, hair, nails, and clothing all impeccable. He supposed she might have been cute, if it weren't for the feeling he had of being a canary left alone with the cat.

She grinned sweetly and pointed at the boxers. "Those are silk, just so you know. I think they'd suit you quite well."

Ed felt his cheeks grow very warm and tight, and hid it by scrutinizing the boxers some more. "Who the hell makes underwear out of silk?"

"Well, it's a very comfortable, natural material, sir." The grin turned predatory, and Ed was absolutely certain that if the woman had a tail, it would be twitching right now. "Besides; I think your girlfriend would enjoy them."

Ed could feel the blush rising into his hairline at that comment. "Idon'thaveagirlfriend," he mumbled in a rush.

"Really?" The girl leaned in very close to Ed, and he noticed then that the nametag read 'Marissa'. "Would you like one?" she all but purred.

"Uh, no thanks. Here, I'll just be on my way now," he said quickly. He made a grab for his socks, the boxers, and a few other pairs of underwear he'd already found, and looked desperately around for a way out before the woman really did pounce.

Marissa had a slight pout on her face. "If you insist. Here;" she said, and handed him a slip of paper. "You'll need this later, I think."

Not bothering to look at the slip, Ed stuffed it into his pocket and ran. "Uh right; thankyougoodbyenow!" he called over his shoulder, not breathing regularly until he reached the checkout stand.

It wasn't until later that he discovered the paper had a phone number on it.

0o0o0

The next store he found, thankfully, was more to his tastes.

Ed was drawn to it by the very prominent color scheme of black and red; his favorite colors. Not bothering to look at the store name, he went inside, only partially fazed by the hair styles of some of the store workers at this point.

The slight blisters forming on his right foot reminded him that his current shoes were in desperate need of a change, so that was where Ed headed first. It was wonderful that Tom was lending him some shoes, but the man walked funny. "Lessee… boots, boots…"

"Hey, Ames, come over here and check this out!"

Ed ignored the two girls giggling down the aisle from him as he found a pair of decent low-rise boots in his size. They were heavy black leather, with impressively large silver buckles… and small but dangerous looking spikes sticking out from the tops. They also had about an inch of sole to them.

"What did you find?"

Ed broke out in a shark's grin when he tried the right one on, and it fit comfortably.

"Panties! Really frilly ones!"

_I didn't hear that. I did __**not**__ just hear that_, Ed thought, trying to ignore the suddenly embarrassing conversation behind him. _Now, pants…_

"Ooooo, sexy. That's a nice design for a T-back."

Ed blinked as another girl called over. "What'd you guys find?"

"Look, Q! Panties!" called the first girl, holding up the pair in question. Ed got an eyeful, and was confused through his blush. All the girl held up was a tiny triangle of fabric with thin straps coming from each corner and intersecting at the back. _What's the point?_ he wondered, before getting distracted by a pair of plain leather pants. _Heeey, they're like my old ones!_

Thankfully, the girls stopped being so loud giggling over their finds, and Ed managed to snag two pairs of pants, one leather and one in denim, and a nice long-sleeved hooded shirt with what looked like a primitive alchemy array on the front, before they interrupted him again.

He hadn't noticed that two of them were behind him. He'd just been happy to have found something he wouldn't mind wearing, and was just about ready to go pay for his finds when he accidentally bumped into one girl. "I'm sorry, excuse me," he mumbled, trying to keep the clothes in his arms from falling.

The second girl—the one named Ames—grinned almost evilly at him. "No problem, gorgeous." She indicated his clothes. "Feel like a new wardrobe, huh?"

Ed gulped. "Uh, something like that. Sorry, I need to get going—"

"Not a problem."

Ed's eyes went wide and he choked when she reached over and gave him a little pat… somewhere he was shocked anyone would touch in public. "You just be sure to visit again sometime. We need more hot guys coming into this store."

"Uhhh, thanks… I think…" Ed murmured, his face flaming and his voice squeaking in panic as he turned towards the registers. "I'll, uh, see you later?"

She gave him a blatant look up and down. "Dear God, I hope so."

Trying not to swallow his tongue, Ed hurried to the cash register. _Everyone here is fucking nuts!_ he thought, wondering if his blush would ever disperse.

He felt some relief when he saw the cashier was male, albeit a bit freaky with blue hair, piercings in places Ed never imagined anyone would want to put holes, and tattoos.

The man gave him a casual, friendly smile. "Looks like you were having some trouble with the ladies back there," he saw fit to comment as Ed put his purchases on the counter.

Ed blushed again. _Dammit, did the whole __**place**__ see it??_ "Uh, a little," he murmured. "Anyway, I'd like to buy these."

"Good selections; hit the clearance section kinda hard, too." The man grinned and pulled out the leather pants. "Niiiice. Glad _someone_ fits in these," he murmured as he rung up the purchases.

Ed caught sight of a metal cap over the man's index finger that reminded him of an eagle's talon the way it was hooked and curved. The design and joints were impressive; but he wondered if it would even get Winry's attention. _Not quite as impressive as automail_, he thought, and was half-tempted to take off his glove and compare.

"Bet your ass looks nice in them, too," the cashier said, yanking Ed from his musings.

Ed couldn't help it; he gaped. "Uh… I'm a _man_."

"So?" The cashier smirked. "I enjoy a good cock every now and then."

Ed wished the floor would just swallow him. It had to be more enjoyable than all these… _comments_. "S-sorry, I don't."

"Fair 'nuff; straightness is wasted on you though, man." The cashier went back to his job, and soon had a bag and a total for Ed.

He couldn't pay and get out of there fast enough.

0o0o0

Ed needed a few minutes away from the crush of bodies and the ongoing feeling of being stripped naked by every set of eyes that landed on him, so he dashed into the nearest restroom and hid in the stall furthest to the back to change clothes. It was only then he really looked at the long-sleeved, hooded shirt he'd purchased. Had he not been mortified at the conversation around him, he might have been panicked at the design.

The pattern on the front did remind him of a more primitive array, but his practiced eye picked out the flaws quickly. Had it been perfect, it might have been able to transmute living tissue. He let out a silent sigh of relief when he touched it, and it didn't react.

The idea that something like this was being painted all over clothing that anyone could wear was disquieting. That just didn't happen in Amestris, unless one really was an alchemist; and it certainly didn't happen in 1920's Germany, because it would be looked at like witchcraft and magic.

Ed was beginning to think perhaps revealing the fact that he was an alchemist wouldn't be so dangerous after all. He also wondered if Al was coming to a similar conclusion; which quickly put a damper on the good mood he was starting to develop.

_We're looking for you, Al_, he thought. Just _hold on a little longer._

He slipped the shirt over his head with a sigh, then scowled when he heard the subtle tap of metal on metal, and felt the scratch of something on his left bicep. He pulled up the cuff of the short top sleeve, and looked closer. _Zippers_, he realized with a soft laugh. He could, if he had a mind to, take the longer sleeves off, and have a short-sleeved shirt. _For all the good that's going to do me_, he thought with a snort.

After changing, Ed felt a little more normal. He was less inclined to blush, at least. So he walked around the mall a bit, just people-watching and enjoying the fact that his new shoes gave him about an inch more of height. He was amazed at the variety of personalities he saw just by walking along; families shopping together at a leisurely pace, boys with their girlfriends resembling packhorses, and lots of groups of girls giggling together about _something_, but he never could figure out what exactly they found so funny.

Someone was selling hand-painted t-shirts at a kiosk in the middle of the promenade, and one caught his eye. He took a closer look at it, and couldn't help but smile.

The older man running the booth came up to him, and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Admiring the shirt," Ed said.

"Thanks. I'm rather proud of it, myself." The man gave him a cagy smile, but not predatory. "You know who that is, right?"

Ed gave him a don't-insult-me look, and said, "Icarus." He looked at the artwork on the shirt again, and added softly, "He dared to fly too close to the sun, and paid the price."

The man chuckled. "I'm impressed. Not many kids your age know the old Greek myths anymore."

Ed snorted, then took a look at the price tag and at his remaining funds. He really wanted that shirt. The irony was just too appropriate. He sighed in disappointment when he realized he didn't have quite enough. "Damn," he whispered. "Five dollars too short." He gave the proprietor an apologetic look. "Sorry, I don't have enough."

The man held up a hand, and smiled. "For someone who actually knows what he's looking at, I think I can knock a little off the price. Say about… five dollars?"

Ed's grin was so huge, he feared his face might crack.

He was finally beginning to relax. Enough so that he nearly passed Reilly sitting at another small kiosk, before he noticed who it was. She was getting something done to her forearm that involved some kind of brownish dye and a very intricate pattern.

"Hey, Reilly," he called, coming over. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a henna tattoo, silly." Reilly looked up and grinned at Ed's new outfit. "Nice threads. Looks like you have some decent fashion sense after all." Her eyes landed on the boots, and she grinned wickedly. "Did you get a little taller there?"

Ed gave her a narrow-eyed glare, and asked, "Did you get a little older?"

She gave him a look that promised retribution later, then the grin returned and she jerked her head at an empty chair. "Why don't you get one, too? They're not permanent."

Ed shook his head. "I'm broke, now." He eyed the design she was getting dubiously and added, "Besides, I'm not into lace and flowers."

The artist put the finishing touches on Reilly's pattern, and looked up at Ed with a smile. "I can do whatever design you want."

"Thanks, but I'm still broke."

"I'll buy," Reilly said.

Ed sighed, realizing that he was thoroughly trapped. He took a quick glance over the designs she had displayed and saw none he was really interested in. Then an idea struck him. _What the hell_, he thought. _May as well carry on the theme_.

"You got something I can draw on?" he asked. She handed over a pad and pen, and he quickly sketched out the pattern. It was simple; a cross with a hooked serpent, a crown and wings.

The artist raised a brow, and smiled. "A modified flamel? I haven't seen someone request something like that in ages."

Ed was impressed that she knew what she was looking at, and suddenly very glad the sleeves of his shirt unzipped. He pulled off the left one, and slapped at the flesh near his shoulder. "Right there, please."

When he cast a glance over at Reilly, she was watching him with that knowing look that always managed to make him nervous. There was no fear or judgment in that look; there never was. It was a look that said she knew a lot more than she was telling, and was patiently waiting for him to open up. He decided that perhaps a little more truth was going to be forthcoming. He just wasn't sure how he was going to broach the subject.


	8. Ch 7 Painful Reunions

"**Painful Reunions"**

**Arc One; Chapter Seven**

**Balance of Power**

**April 29, 2006 – 7:52pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Getting caught on Mrs. Butterworth's radar was never good. At least, most of the time. Hughes had actually gotten good at dodging her over the past couple of years. Had turned it into a fine art, in fact.

Unfortunately, his mind was elsewhere when he came off break and so he'd let himself get blindsided…

For once, it proved to be fortuitous. Or maybe disastrous.

As usual, she had tried to convince him he needed a woman in his life. And she even had the perfect one picked out for him. She was convinced that Hughes would be the one man who could stop this poor woman from falling forever into a pit of sin and degradation, but he was going to have to move fast, since she was already corrupting boys that were far too young for her; like that nice-looking one who was with her today. Well, he needed a haircut, but otherwise he was quite handsome. Edward was his name. Had some sort of German last name, too. Elric, she thought.

Hughes had been trying to tune her out. He'd been making the appropriate noises at the appropriate places, all the while thinking he finally understood why Roy had gotten so annoyed with him; but all thought came to a screeching halt when she mentioned the name.

"Excuse me?" he said. "What did you say his name was?"

"Edward Elric, I believe," Mrs. Butterworth said.

_Coincidence_, Hughes thought. _It has to be._ He didn't dare think otherwise.

"He wasn't about so tall, with long blonde hair, was he?" he asked, holding his hand out just a tad over the old woman's height. He was surprised it wasn't shaking.

"Why yes," she said. "Do you know the boy?"

Thoughts whirled. He didn't want to believe it possible. He didn't want to find out, because if it wasn't Ed, the disappointment would be crushing. At the same time, he had to know. Because if it was…

In an instant, a plan formed. It was insane, but it was a sure-fire way to find out for certain. "Yes actually, I believe I do," he said. "And that boy is trouble, with a capital 'T'."

That got the right response from Mrs. Buttinski; a healthy dose of shock and concern, which for her meant poking her nose in, and that was exactly what Hughes was hoping for. "Oh, this is terrible!" she gasped.

"You're right, Mrs. Butterworth," he said with a shark's grin. "And I think maybe I should pay Ms. Reilly a visit. Do you know where she lives?"

"Of course I do!" she said, as she pulled out an enormous black book from her enormous purse.

_Dear God_, he thought. _She keeps a __**list**_ He cleared his throat to cover the snicker he felt coming up. But he got the address.

Too bad that a minor emergency came up, and he had to run to Tulsa to cover another manager who'd come down sick. It gave him time to have second thoughts about this crazy scheme.

And third, fourth, fifth… He'd lost count of the number of times he'd mentally argued with himself over the next few hours. Back and forth. Go? No? He'd finally convinced himself that he had to have been dreaming by the time he finally shut down the studio for the night. There was no way he could've seen whom he thought he had. It was just a cruel coincidence; the name wasn't _that_ uncommon, after all.

At least, that's what Maes Hughes kept telling himself as he drove the 45 minutes back from Tulsa and straight to the address he'd acquired for one Mary Reilly, cable company worker. And the possible protector for one Edward Elric, alchemist.

God, if he was right...

Putting the thought out of his head, Maes turned his wheel and pulled into Reilly's driveway, turning off the engine. _Well, at least Ed's laying low_, he thought as he looked around. _Mostly isolated; probably a good thing._

Clearing his throat and rearranging his hair, Maes got out of the car and stepped up to the door, taking one last breath before knocking on the door.

0o0o0

Edward Elric was now officially bored out of his fucking mind.

It had been five days. Five days of being stranded in this strange world with its mechanics and strange food and "pixies" or whatever the hell Reilly called the colors on her computer and TV boxes.

And he was bored.

The adventures at Wal-Mart and the mall earlier today was the most excitement he'd had since landing in this miserable and confusing place; which was a sad testament about this society in his opinion.

He had at least hoped to get some sort of lively debate going with Reilly after they made it back to her place relatively unscathed. He knew she didn't believe in some myth cum religion like the majority of the people around here seemed to. But all he got out of her on that was, "Not all Christians are like the soul-eater, Ed." Then she tossed him a thick book. The title of which was "The Holy Bible".

He set it aside, completely disinterested. What need did he have for that kind of myth, anyway?

"Being an atheist means you don't believe in God. That doesn't mean you can't show a little understanding for those who do."

He just grumbled and scowled.

He would still prefer an alchemy book. Or some sort of book besides the paranormal research crap, archeology, and religious texts Reilly had scattered around her home. He wanted science.

Even pseudo-science, for that matter; but Tom wasn't here yet with the 'static strap' he said he was bringing. Supposedly this thing would allow Ed to use the computers without killing them. Which meant he could access Reilly's notes and research. He certainly hoped that it was a damn sight better than the crap she had laying around, at least.

He was starting to get stir-crazy without having something worth reading. Something he could settle down and believe in, not something he'd consider reading to Al to get a laugh out of him.

And _there_ was the real reason he was feeling restive, he realized. He wanted to find Al. All this waiting, and searching on the internet, and waiting, and hearing that Ducky hadn't made any headway, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting… It was driving him crazy. Ed was a _doer_, not a waiter.

It didn't help his mood any that the woman supposedly helping him had just finished thoroughly trouncing him in some board game and had proceeded to rub it in as she put the board and pieces away. It just blackened his mood all the more, and made him stew in his own head.

Which was probably the reason why someone knocking on the front door didn't set off any alarms right off.

Reilly blinked, looked at Ed for a moment, then back at the door. "Yo, Ed."

"What, hag?"

"Shut the fuck up and go hide in the other room."

"Why the hell should I?"

"I'm going to see who's at the door. Nobody knocks at my place, remember?"

The sudden reminder of that little fact shut Ed up, and he nodded once before getting out of the viewing area of the door. He hid in the hall where he could listen in. _Just in case_, he thought. He still wasn't sure of the rules or the dangers of this place, after all.

Reilly yelled, "Coming!" at the door, then he heard it open.

"Are you Mary Reilly?" The man's voice was a warm baritone, friendly with a hint of hope hidden deep beneath the words, formed as a question. And Ed's breath stopped short as he recognized it. ..._oh HELL no_.

Reilly sounded cautious. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you somehow?"

The man in front of her didn't get a chance to reply when Ed charged out of hiding and yelled, "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER YOU SICK BASTARD!!"

"Ed?! What the hell?!" Reilly said as he shoved her back out of the way and aimed an automail fist at the man at the door…

A man who looked so much like a dead friend it was painful.

Struggling to pin the man he'd just punched, Ed glared back at her, golden eyes blazing with hatred for the man beneath him. "Get out of here, Reilly! He's a homunculus! GET OUT."

Ed struggled to keep the man pinned as he heard her scramble away.

"Get your automail ass off me, Ed! I'm not Envy, you idiot!"

There was a sharp clap, and Ed transformed his metal arm into a lethal-looking sword, holding it at the man's throat. "Yeah, right! Like I'd believe that!"

"I'd show you evidence if you'd get off me. God, you weigh a ton!"

Ed heard Reilly return and the audible click of a hammer being pulled back. "Let him up, Ed. He moves wrong, I'll shoot him," she said over his shoulder.

"Idiot! If he's Envy, something like that won't kill him!"

"Will you just let me show you?!?!"

Hesitantly Ed got up, sword trained on the man's throat. "Let's see it… _Envy_."

Very slowly, the man got up, taking a moment to adjust his jaw a bit. The red on his jawline looked like it was going to bruise nicely Ed noticed with a slight smirk of satisfaction. Still showing his hands, he reached for his pocket and withdrew a picture of himself, a woman, and a small girl. A picture very well-loved, the corners dog-eared and tattered as though the bearer had gone through hell to keep it safe.

Ed felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh shit." A soft clap and his arm was back to normal. Rushing the man and nearly knocking him back down on the ground, he tore wildly at his shirt.

"Hey! I'd strip if you'd asked!"

Ed felt like he was suffocating as his entire world narrowed down to the one image in front of him.

He felt Reilly come close and look over his shoulder at what had made him suddenly very weak. It was an old bullet-wound, ugly and prominent, in the man's right side. It was Hughes. Against all odds and logic, it was Maes Hughes. A man Ed was certain was dead.

Ed's voice got even quieter. "_ohshit_."

Gold eyes rolled back, and Edward Elric was dead to the world.

0o0o0

Reilly was leaning on the wall next to the entrance of the hall when Hughes quietly exited Ed's room. Her arm hung loosely at her side, with the gun still in it. The look she gave him was a combination of wary curiosity and tightly suppressed fear.

He sighed and came down the hall. He didn't miss the almost imperceptible tightening of her grip on the gun, nor did he blame her. He stopped right in front of her and gave her a sad smile. "I guess an explanation is in order."

"That would be a good start, yes."

She led him into the living room and gestured to the sofa. "Thirsty?" she asked. He nodded as he sat down, and she asked, "Water? Pop? Coffee?"

He looked up at her and grinned sheepishly. "Uh, you don't by chance have anything stronger, do you?"

She smirked and left the room. When she returned a moment later, she had two high-ball glasses half full of an amber liquid. She held one out to him and said, "Single malt. Sorry it's only 12 years old, though."

"That's fine, actually. Thank you."

She took the chair across from him and laid the gun in her lap. She said nothing, just waited patiently.

"So," Hughes said after he took a sip of the drink. "What has Ed told you?"

Reilly pointed to a photograph hanging on the wall over his head and he turned to look. It was a man, tall, broad-shouldered, proud. Dressed in a police officer's uniform, and accepting an award.

"That's my father," she said. "Was a cop in one form or fashion since he enlisted in the Air Force at seventeen. 21 years service for the US, two tours through 'Nam, working intelligence. When he retired, he became a beat officer. It was his life."

When Hughes faced her, she crossed her arms and settled back in the seat. "The man was also the consummate poker player. Managed to support himself on winnings while overseas, since all his actual pay was going to pay mom's medical bills. He taught me how to play, too. And he taught me to never reveal my hand until the end."

Hughes had to smile. "Touché."

"Let's start with this; what in the hell is a 'homunculus'? And what the hell did Ed do with his arm?" she asked.

Hughes gasped and his brows shot up. "You don't know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I already knew the answers," Reilly said. Her voice and her expression were flat, neutral. Revealing nothing.

Hughes stared for a long moment, trying to find the best way to explain things without revealing more than necessary. Reilly waited silent and calm; although Hughes wouldn't say patient anymore. Her fingers absently stroked the barrel of the gun in her lap, but there was a slight shaking in the tips.

He took a deep breath and held it as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he finally exhaled, it came out in a blustery, "Oh boy." He met her eyes and felt a surge of sympathy for her over what he was about to inflict on her.

Most people in this world would either deny the reality of what they'd just seen, or they'd go into a panic. Reilly had done neither. Hughes had a strong gut feeling that this woman was made of much sterner stuff than average.

"I guess I need to start by answering the second question, first," Hughes said.

"Stop dancing around it like it's excrement Hughes, and just spill it."

He hesitated, stunned. Then he relaxed a little a smiled. _Much sterner stuff_. He nodded. "Ed's an alchemist."

The look Reilly gave him clearly said she thought he was full of bullshit. "Alchemist? Combine-mysticism-and-chemistry-to-turn-lead -into-gold… alchemist?"

"Yes and no," Hughes said. Her fingers tensed over the gun, and Hughes raised a hand. "Let me explain."

He took a deep breath and plunged in; describing alchemy in his world and explaining what a homunculus was, why Ed thought he was Envy; which led to the story of his 'death' and his own reasons for being on this side of the gate. With the exception of the homunculi, he carefully skirted around human alchemy and its consequences. What little he did tell her was enough to make most people in this world declare him delusional and have him locked up. Reilly however, kept her face very neutral. He had to admit he was impressed.

"So you got caught in some kind of alchemic rebound that sent you and this assassin of the top brass through a gate and you ended up here?" she asked.

He nodded, and Reilly went thoughtful.

"Ed mentioned that he and his brother were disarming—"

Hughes felt a thrill of fear settle in the pit of his stomach and he snapped without meaning to. "Brother?! You mean Al is over here, too?"

The wary look returned and she nodded slowly. "We think so. We've been trying to track him down."

He rubbed at his face and thought he might be sick. _Al, on this side of the gate? The consequences…_ A low moan escaped him.

"Mr. Hughes? Is there something wrong?"

He swallowed and looked at her. "Dear God," he whispered. "They're going to send him to a lab and take him apart."

"Why," she said slowly.

"Al—Alphonse Elric is a soul attached to a suit of armor," he whispered. "Without a body."

"I'm not following you here."

"It means just what he said, Reilly," Ed said softly from the entrance of the hall. He looked at Hughes; stricken, near tears. "Except that's not the case anymore. Al has his body back."

Now it was Hughes's turn to be near tears. "You made the--?" he choked, unable to finish the thought.

Ed shook his head and sat down on the sofa next to him. He silently looked down at his hands resting in his lap; shaking so hard Hughes could hear the automail rattle, and he watched as Ed clasped them and clenched them between his knees. He glanced up and saw Reilly calmly put the safety back on her gun, set it on the side table, get up, and leave the room. In the dragging silence, she returned with the bottle of scotch and an extra glass. She set the glass in front of Edward and poured two fingers worth for him. "Normally I wouldn't be one to contribute to the delinquency of a minor, but you look like you need it."

Ed hesitantly reached for the glass, and took a sip. He grimaced, then set it back down on the table.

"I guess I should start at the beginning," he said to Reilly.

He stared at his right hand for a long moment, wiggling the fingers. Finally he looked up at Reilly and pulled off his shirt. By the look on her face, Hughes gathered this was the first time she saw the whole arm.

"This is what happens when you try to play God, Reilly," he said softly. He looked back down at his hand, and told her the story; of two very young boys who'd lost their mother; how they tried to bring her back and damn near lost everything in the process. How he'd attached his brother's soul to a suit of armor in order to save him; the hunt for the Philosopher's Stone, the horrifying discovery that it was made from human souls…

He left nothing out this time, filling in both Reilly and Hughes at once.

Maes Hughes wiped at his eyes. It was all so overwhelming, and so damned hard to believe was true. He was beginning to wonder if he was dreaming again; and to make sure it was real…

…_Well, not __**just**__ that…_

...He leaned over, and wrapped Ed in a tight bear hug.

Ed squirmed and wriggled and broke himself free of Hughes's grip. "Alright! Alright! You're glad to see me, I get that. Now. Let. Go!"

_Okay_, Hughes thought. _It's real_.

He glanced over at Reilly and saw her staring at them. Her face was etched in stone, but he could see her throat working, swallowing. "Mary?"

"I—" she cleared her throat, but her voice remained thick. "It's Reilly, please. I'm no virgin." Then she got to her feet and headed down the hall. Ed and Hughes just looked at each other. A moment later, when she didn't reemerge, Hughes got up and followed her.

When he found her, she was rifling through a drawer, tossing lingerie over her shoulder with both hands. "Ha!" she declared and slapped a pack of cigarettes on top of the dresser. Then she dove back into the drawer and threw more lingerie over her shoulder.

Try as he might, Maes Hughes couldn't resist taking a glance at some of the items that landed on the bed, the floor, and everywhere else. Some of the articles of clothing made him wonder what she did in her spare time… when she wasn't caring for lost alchemists, that is.

She apparently found what she was looking for and snagged a cigarette from the pack. Hughes caught the sound of a flint wheel turn then saw the warm glow of a flame. She blew out a lungful of smoke as she turned around, and then screamed and nearly jumped up onto the dresser. "Damnit!"

"Sorry," he said. "Ed was a little worried."

When Reilly got her breathing under control, she looked down at the smoldering tobacco between her fingers. "You know, I quit these things about a year ago." She looked back up at him and gave him a trembling smile. "It seemed like a good time to start back up."

"I'm sorry, Reilly. I know this has to be very overwhelming."

She laughed once, harsh and bitter. "Overwhelming is waking up on your birthday to discover your mother died in the night, Mr. Hughes. This is something else."

Hughes waited in silence while she smoked the cigarette and tried to wrap her brain around the information that had been hurled at her this evening. He could see her mentally arguing with herself as the expressions on her face shifted from one emotion to the next. By the time she'd stubbed the cigarette out, she looked like she'd made a decision. She looked at him finally and said, "First thing we have to do is find Al."

He smiled and nodded, and they returned to the living room together…

…to find Ed in his old clothes, jacket over his arm and ready to leave.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Reilly asked.

His look was embarrassed, apologetic, as he said, "I'm going with Hughes, Reilly. You don't need to be involved in this anymore." He looked down. "Thank you. For taking care of me."

She crossed her arms. "That's not how it works, Ed."

"Uh…"

She remained serious as she took the two steps necessary to invade Ed's personal bubble, causing him to lean away from her. She looked him over appraisingly, then said, "See, you just told me everything... You _did_ tell me everything, right?"

Hughes watched with intense interest. Something was just a little… _off_. In her tone; in her eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling that there should be a punchline in this exchange eventually.

"Yeah," Ed drawled out, watching her sideways; suspicion sparking in his gold eyes.

She nodded, and rested a finger thoughtfully on her lips. "Right. See, the way this scenario plays out now is you have two choices. You either have to let me continue to help. Along with Tom and Ducky of course. Or…" Her eyes met his; intense, determined. "…you have to kill me."

_And there it is_, Hughes thought, choking back a laugh.

"What?! No!" Ed protested; not believing what he was hearing. "Jeeze woman, are you nuts? I'm not going to kill you!"

"Them's the rules, kid," she said. "One or the other. Which is it going to be?"

"Neither!" Ed snapped. "You don't need to get involved any more, Reilly. It's danger—Ow!"

Reilly cuffed him upside the back of his head with enough force to send him staggering a few steps.

"Damnit! What'd you do that for?" he asked as he rubbed the back of his head.

She balled her fists into her hips, and leaned toward him; the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips was mild. "You moron! We're already involved! We've been involved from the moment we fished your ass out of that mud puddle the other night."

Hughes leaned weakly against the entry to the hall and covered his face in an attempt to hide his laughter. He knew what she was getting at and also knew that simple logic would have worked just as well. But he couldn't miss the spark of amusement that flashed briefly when she cuffed Edward. Sometimes his sense of _right_ got in the way of logic and Reilly had figured out her own way of sending it careening off into the distance.

Her look softened. A hand snuck around and clasped the back of Ed's neck, pulling him closer. She rested her forehead on his and said softly, "Did you really think I was going to let you waltz out of here and act like you never existed, Ed? Did you really think I wouldn't worry about you? After telling me all that?"

The boy visibly relaxed. When the moment seemed to stretch into awkward, he gently pulled back and gave her a befuddled look. "You're not getting all maternal on me, are you?"

Reilly scowled. "Don't insult me, you little asshole."

Ed smirked. "Good. You had me worried for a minute, there."

0o0o0

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

_Tom,_

_I'm sorry to bug you again, but this was just so cute I had to send it on. Check out what my little girl decided to make today!_

_-Amber_

_Attachment: castleteaparty.jpg_

Tom took one look at the picture and sighed in annoyance. "Damn, Amber, can't you ever e-mail me with information and not pictures?" he wondered out loud, pulling out a small notebook and flipping to the Bs. "Ergh, maybe a call will help."

Several dialed digits and a few rings later, Tom breathed a sigh of relief as someone picked up... only to stifle a groan at who picked up the phone. "Hello, Lucy."

"Oh! Hi, Mr. Grumpy-Man!"

Tom tried to muffle the frustrated sigh he released at the name. "Can I talk to your mom please, Lucy?"

"Okays, but you gotta wait a minute. Mommy and Daddy are doing the face-thingy again."

This time, Tom did groan, slumping down into the chair in his kitchen. "Just get your mother please, Lu. Can you do that?"

He had the feeling the talkative three-year-old was going to answer again when he heard some muffled movement and a "you go play with your father, okay?" before someone came on the line again. "Sorry about that. May I ask who this is?"

"Why does your daughter call me 'Mr. Grumpy-Man', Amber?"

The woman on the other end giggled. "Oh. Sorry about that, Tom."

Tom sighed. "Never mind. I was calling to see if you had any information for me, about what I asked you for? Since you didn't answer the question in your e-mail."

"Oh, right. That." There were some squeals in the background as Amber continued, some thumping sounds coming through the phone. "Well, if this interests you any, my protégé keeps calling me. Something about some strange goings-on in Kansas somewhere."

Tom made a note of it, smiling at the bit of luck. "Did he specify where?"

"Are you kidding? I'm lucky if he specifies the gender of his suspects. But he did tell me there was something going on that had to do with a car accident. Something about the roads being really screwed up, and the victim isn't talking." Amber laughed on the other end of the line. "Or the victim has amnesia. Wouldn't surprise me any."

Tom made a few more notes, feeling much better. "Surprisingly enough, that helps, Amber. Thanks."

"No problem. Did you like the pic of Lucy I sent?" Tom rolled his eyes at the subject change. "I swear I should start having her read textbooks. Such a brilliant little kid."

"Yeah, it was really cute. Thanks anyway, Amber. Call me if anything else comes up."

"Will do. Now my husband's molesting me while I'm on the phone, so I'll talk to you later."

Tom rolled his eyes so far, he was surprised they remained in his head. "Go. Snog your husband. I'll just gag over here. Goodbye."

"Bye, Grumpy!"

Tom sighed as the phone clicked off, but looked back at his notebook and smiled. He had some new parameters for Ducky.

0o0o0

That evening, Hughes couldn't help but grin like an idiot, despite the impressive and growing bruise decorating his chin. He was reunited with an old friend, and it looked like the boy had fallen in with a good group; albeit a bit strange.

Ducky and Tom had arrived soon after Reilly and Ed had settled things, and she filled them in; carefully leaving out some of the more bizarre aspects. Hughes was pleasantly surprised at how well they took it all in and accepted it. The older man seemed to be the toughest skeptic of the group, and Hughes wasn't sure the man had changed his mind much even after Ed gave a little demonstration; but at least he didn't run screaming. This made Hughes question the mindset of the few social contacts he'd allowed since he'd arrived on this side of the gate. It wasn't that they were ignorant; they were just not quite as open about strangeness as these three seemed to be.

The _demonstration_ was entertaining, as well. After Reilly had filled the two men in, the younger one had bugged Ed into showing off what he could do… to the point of driving the boy to distraction. With a frustrated growl, Ed stormed off into the kitchen, and Hughes thought that was the end of it. Then he reemerged a moment later with a piece of chalk and drew a quick array on the arm of the chair Ducky was sitting in.

_An array?_ Hughes thought with no small amount of shock. _He didn't use one when he transmuted his arm._ He made a mental note to ask Ed about that at a later time. When they were alone.

With a light touch, Ed transmuted the chair Ducky was sitting in around him, effectively pinning him down and covering his mouth with an impenetrable strap of leather. After about five minutes of leaving him that way, Reilly calmly advised him that he'd gotten his revenge, and to let Ducky go.

_There's some sort of friction between those two_, Hughes thought with a snicker.

What that friction was, became clear as soon as Ducky could speak. "No wonder Reilly hasn't sent you to the shed yet. You're kinkier than her other toy-boys."

"I AM NOT A TOY BOY, DAMNIT!"

Ducky just laughed as he skittered off to the kitchen to join Reilly with cooking dinner.

Hughes rubbed at his jaw absently, the grin only widening. "Remind me to never piss you off again, Ed. This kinda hurts."

Ed shrugged, flopping down on the couch. "Well, what would you have done if someone you thought was dead suddenly showed up? Especially in a parallel universe?"

Hughes thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Probably the same thing. I feel bad for anyone you punch full-out, though."

Ed grinned evilly, flexing the metal hand. "Be glad I didn't punch you in the nose."

"Believe me, I am." Hughes gingerly probed the bruise, wincing good-naturedly. "It's going to be interesting explaining the bruise at work tomorrow, though." Letting his hand drop from his face, Hughes looked at Ed appraisingly. "By the way, you look like you've gotten taller."

Ed gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and raised his metal fist. "Keep it up and I'll give you another bruise to match that one, Hughes."

He poked at Ed's metal arm. "You know, you need to learn how to hide that thing. Not everyone's going to be gullible enough to think it's an experimental prosthetic."

From the kitchen came an indignant shout of "I AM NOT GULLIBLE" from Ducky.

Ignoring the shout, Ed pouted and sat up again so he could study his automail. "Why not?"

"The technology here is advanced, but they haven't figured out how to make kinetically-capable prosthetics yet." Hughes sighed. "No one's even close."

"Then what do you suggest, O Master of Disguise?" The sarcasm dripped off Ed's voice, frustration evident.

Ignoring the frustrated tone, Hughes frowned, resting his bruised chin on his hand and studying Ed for a bit. "A latex covering might work. It'd take some trying, but it'd be closest to actually mimicking flesh."

Ed blinked in confusion. "What's latex?"

"You know the qualities of rubber, right? Latex is rather similar, but it's a lot more durable and can more closely resemble flesh if done right." Hughes grinned slightly. "Fetishists really like it; it's got a very fleshy-feel to it."

Studying Hughes' face, Ed shook his head. "Stop right there, I don't wanna know."

Hughes laughed, reaching over and ruffling the boy's hair, making him squawk indignantly. "Don't worry; it's also used in the movies here for special-effects. It looks real enough, if you try hard. I'll show you." Hughes looked around for a moment. "Hey, Reilly! You got a remote here?"

"The couch probably ate it; look in there," she called from the kitchen.

"Thanks, I think." Hughes jerked a thumb at Ed. "You. Off the couch. Time for remote-scavenging."

0o0o0

He couldn't sleep.

Despite the painkillers the nurses had been supplying him with on a regular basis, Al just couldn't sleep. His head still ached, and his raw stomach refused to calm. Sitting upright in his darkened room, he curled up as much as his injuries would let him, sighing as he thought of his brother.

In the dark room was where it truly hit Al that he was alone; Ed wasn't anywhere to be found, and neither was the Colonel. He'd have given his right arm just to have Noah with him at the moment. Someone he knew, that he could talk to, and not feel utterly alone in this strange place with its TVs and intravenous drips and members of the government who threatened to kill those around him.

Though he was surprisingly used to the last one. _Damn homunculi_.

Al wrapped his arms around his knees, ignoring the complaints of his muscles as he did so. He had always been the one of the two brothers to sit properly, but he felt so small and sick and useless and alone at the moment that he couldn't help but adopt Ed's habit of curling up on himself.

_What do I do now, Brother? How do I find you?_

A woman had come to see him after lunch, when Ray had gone back to his duties. She'd introduced herself as a Ms. Goodson, and had said she was with a group called Social Services. Since he didn't have parents, she'd explained, he'd be taken into the custody of the state once he was better, until they could either find his real parents, or someone who could be a foster parent for him.

Her casual behavior toward the whole thing scared him nearly as much as Bond had. If they succeeded in getting him into a foster home, he could say goodbye to ever finding Ed again.

He'd had another vomiting fit after that. The doctor had him on liquids through the IV afterwards, in addition to a fluids diet. But that wasn't what worried him. The thought of never seeing his brother again did, more than all of Bond's threats put together.

Al sighed quietly and tried to calm his raw stomach. But thoughts of his brother and being put in a foster home conspired against him, and he quickly heaved up what little he'd taken at supper into the ever-present bedpan. His eyes grew wide in alarm at the bright red tinge in the pan.

Blood.

_So much blood. Blood from Teacher. Blood from Brother. Blood from Mother. Blood from Alphonse._

_Blood from me._

The pan fell from nerveless fingers to the bedspread as the teen sobbed, memories that were his own and not flooding his brain, causing him to cough more, bring up more blood. A never ending cycle, so much like life and death.

After a particularly harsh coughing fit, Al gasped for breath, then rested his head on his knees, trying to soothe the hotness of his forehead with the cool sheets blanketing him. A soft melody drifted from the window, and he smiled half-consciously, his pain-fogged mind identifying the instrument after a moment.

_A reed flute…_

The raw nerves in his stomach and mind settled down as he listened to the soothing melody, and he calmed enough to relax on the bed, absently pressing the small white button for a call-nurse as he drifted into soothing, dreamless sleep.

When Heather came to check on him a few minutes later, she found Al sound asleep, a bedpan with blood in it… and a reed flute, clutched protectively in Al's arms.

0o0o0

There had been no question about whether Hughes was going to join them for dinner. Reilly had made it clear he was staying, and there was no arguing with her. The food was good and plentiful; even with Ed's appetite, which apparently hadn't changed much since he saw him last. The company was even better.

It wasn't just reuniting with Ed, which made Hughes feel as giddy as a schoolgirl; but the people who'd allowed the boy into their lives were warm and easy to be around. Hughes wondered just how much of it had to do with the fact that here he didn't have to hide who he was; and how much of it was just the general atmosphere that surrounded these three people who have obviously been close friends for a very long time. He also didn't care to question it too much. He was just happy he was welcomed into the group and could be a part of it. It was a relief not to have to be careful and hide behind a made-up persona.

_How odd_, he thought, as he leaned over Ed's shoulder, walking him through some of the more basic functions of Reilly's computer. _In this world, Ed and I would be considered strange… even something to be feared. But these three just embrace the strangeness as a matter of course._

_Then again, it seems that strangeness surrounds them_, he realized when he considered that Ed showed up on Reilly's property through a gate that she was aware of, and had been studying for years.

Ed's frustrated growl brought him back to reality, and he had to smile at the younger man jerking his right arm against the Velcro strap that was clipped to the chassis of the computer tower near his feet. "I feel like a damn dog on a leash, here."

"Which is nothing at all like working for Roy, right?"

Ed blinked up at him in shock, then a slow smile crept across his face, and he softened with a gentle laugh. "At least the leash that Colonel Useless kept me on was a lot less…" He gave the strap another tug to demonstrate. "…obvious."

"Good point." Hughes reached over and gave Ed's hair a good mussing, and grinned. "Tell me when you want to cruise the Information Superhighway. I want to see your reaction to it."

Ed glared at the mussing, then sighed and went back to the screen. "Yeah, whatever." He paused for a slight moment, then gave Hughes an actual grin. "It's good to have you back, Hughes."

The smile on Hughes' face could have eclipsed the sun. "Same to you, Ed. Same to you."


	9. Ch 8 And Now a Word from Our Sponsor

"**And Now for a Word from Our Sponsor"**

**Arc One; Chapter Eight**

**Balance of Power**

**April 30, 2006 – 2:33am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

It was nearly 2:30 in the morning when Ed walked Hughes to his car. Neither of them had really noticed when late in the evening Ducky and Tom left; and Ed wasn't really sure where Reilly had wandered off to.

He knew it was probably too early for her to head to bed, and he didn't find her in the garage with her hydroponics. That left one other possibility. He wandered out the back door and to her little walled garden.

He leaned on the low gate, saw a few torches lit and Reilly on the bench, shadowed by the willow. "It doesn't do a lot of good to hide if you light a beacon, you know," he said mildly.

As he entered the garden, he heard her chuckle softly. "I had a choice of hiding in the darkness and being eaten alive; or risking discovery and keeping all my blood." She reached up and slapped at her shoulder. "Keeping my blood won out."

Ed hesitated, suddenly unsure if he was welcome at the moment. "Do you want me to leave you alone, Reilly?"

She scooted over to one side of the bench, and patted the empty seat. "Nah, you're fine, Ed."

He settled next to her, and stared out at the flickering torches a long moment. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"I… was gunna tell you about all that. Soon. Things just got a little crazy today."

"That has to be the understatement of the year," Reilly said with a slightly bitter laugh.

Ed winced.

Reilly sighed and ran her hands through her wild curls. "Sorry, Ed. Now that things have quieted down, I've been trying to digest all this."

He slapped at the back of his neck, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Looking down at the ground, he said, "I can still go stay with Hughes."

Reilly shook her head. "It's not that. It's just—" She sighed again. "Hell, I don't know what it is. I just know it's bizarre."

Ed chuckled softly. "Bet you wish you'd taken the blue pill, huh, Reilly?"

There was a moment of silence, then Reilly burst out with a surprised and delighted laugh. Ed relaxed.

"So you get the reference, finally?"

Ed smiled and nodded. "Got bored the other day and caught The Matrix on HBO."

"So how long did you question your reality after watching that?"

Ed snorted. "I question my own reality all the time anyway."

"Touché," she said, punctuated by a slap to her thigh.

Ed leaned back on the bench, and pulled his knees up. "You know, the first time I came through the gate… When all of me came through… I believed it when my father told me I couldn't use alchemy in this world. One, because it never developed past mysticism and myth. The other reason was that supposedly every time we used it on the other side, we were taking lives from here."

"You don't believe that now?"

Ed shook his head and slapped his forearm. "I know better. The Thule Organization tried to use alchemy to open the gate so they could invade my world. But they couldn't get it open without my help, or Al's." He hesitated, took a deep breath and plunged on. "They also used the life of my father, and Al said Wrath and Gluttony were transmuted on his side."

"Wrath and Gluttony?"

"Homunculi," Ed said staring off into the darkness. "Created whenever there's a failed human transmutation."

There was a long moment of stunned silence, and Ed knew she was mulling that little bit over in her mind.

"I won't ask," she said softly; and brushed at the bridge of her nose.

He looked her in the eyes, and nodded once. Grateful. Then he looked off in the distance once more and slapped himself in the face. "Thing is, alchemy worked to open the gate. It took life, but it worked. Al and I started experimenting. Little things. Nothing that would really require a sacrifice. Well, life anyway. There's always a sacrifice. Anyhow, we found out we could still use alchemy here. We just need an array."

He brought his hands up and together without the clap. "Where we came from, because he and I had both been through that Gate, because we saw 'The Truth', we didn't need the array. Our bodies provided it." He lowered his hands, and wrapped them around his knees. "I could, anyway. Al had no memory of the Truth inside the gate when he was dragged in there that time. But the theory was he would be able to do it without an array too, if he could've remembered." He sighed and combed his fingers through his bangs. "He remembers now, but we can't test the theory here."

He faced Reilly. "What you said this morning. About faith? You're right. I didn't use alchemy for almost two years because I'd lost my faith in it. I believed my father about the energy that powered our alchemy coming from the lives lost on this side of the gate. But when I got that faith back, I was able to use it again. Just… not like before."

"It sounds like your father was partially right." _Slap_; right under her throat. Reilly glanced down that the palm of her hand, grimaced and shook the dead mosquito off. "I don't agree with his theory about where the energy comes from, though."

Ed smirked, then nodded. "Opening the gate involved taking life. The gate Al and I came through this time… I know it was a different kind of gate. It felt different. But I think… it still required lives. Dr Wermier… the men he had with him… I don't think they got away before the bomb went off."

"Maybe," Reilly said. "And maybe the lives used to open those gates was a coincidence. Perhaps there was something else that tapped into that energy at the same time the lives were spent."

Reilly looked hard at him for a long moment, then focused on the flickering of a torch. "This isn't about faith, is it, Ed?"

"You want to figure out how to open the gate, don't you?" he asked as he vigorously waved a hand in front of his eyes, and blew up into his bangs.

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes."

Ed felt a lead ball settle in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his hands; one metal, one flesh, and thought about the sacrifices involved in alchemy. "The Gates. Human transmutation. The Philosopher's Stone. They're all connected. There is no reward for discovering them; for figuring them out. Just pain… and death."

SMACK! Reilly slapped him across the face. Ed lurched back and blinked in shock. Then he scowled at her. "What the hell was that for?!"

"Mosquito," Reilly said.

When he glared at her disbelieving, she held up her hand, showing her palm and the rather large smear across it. "A really big, mutant mosquito."

He wiped at his cheek and saw blood on his fingertips.

"Let's get inside before we're sucked dry," Reilly said and got to her feet.

0o0o0

**April 30, 2006 – 7:12am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Al felt strangely peaceful in the morning, despite the ache in his head and abdomen. Sitting upright, he rubbed at his eyes, barely noticing the flute that fell from his arms.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Al blinked in surprise. "Oh... hey, Heather," he yawned as a greeting to his night nurse, frowning at the hoarseness of his voice. "What's up?"

Heather stood and coaxed Al to lean back onto the bed, pressing the button to let him sit mostly upright. "I have a question for you, Tiger."

"Okay," he said hesitantly. "What is it?"

"When do you feel most nauseated?"

Al blinked. "That's an odd question."

Heather smiled and pulled up a seat. "Yeah, I know, but could you answer it? I don't think all your vomiting is just from this," she stated, tapping him lightly on the head.

"Oh." Al thought back over the past few days. "Mostly about half an hour or so after meals, I think. And when I'm worried."

"Thought so." Heather smiled and stood up. "I'm going to go get the doctor, all right?"

"'Kay." Al laid back and snuggled into his pillow. "Why? What's causing it?"

Heather smiled once and tapped the cup in front of Al. "I think you're allergic to the meds, kid." Moving the chair back, she grabbed Al's chart. "I'll be back in a few, okay?"

Al nodded once, closing his eyes again. "Okay."

As he started to relax, his hand landed on something hard and cylindrical; and he frowned with his eyes closed as his fingers traced along the warm smooth wood. He grasped the object and brought it up as he opened his eyes again. His puzzled scowl didn't leave his face, but a hint of recognition flicked in his eyes.

_A reed flute?_

Al thought he'd been dreaming of the gentle music that seemed to come just when he needed it most. _One of the nurses?_ He wondered. He looked it over, impressed with the elegant simplicity of the instrument. It was clearly hand-made, with a stylized wolf carved from an aromatic wood on the end. It was lying down, but looking up at a butterfly that was perched on its nose. The wolf's tail was up too, and Al could almost imagine it wagging. For such a small thing, the carving was surprisingly detailed; he could even see the wolf smiling… at the butterfly.

He gave the flute an experimental blow, and his brows shot up when a rich note was made. He carefully placed his fingers over the holes, pleased to discover that they were spaced just right for his smallish hands and tried to make more notes.

It was surprisingly easy to play and even though Al had no formal training, had no idea how to play any instrument for that matter; he was making random melodies in short order. He soon became immersed in just the _sounds_ and lost any self-consciousness about skills; making the music just for the sheer joy and soothing sounds.

0o0o0

**11:33am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

"Hey, Holland!"

Hughes looked up from his paperwork and gave a huge grin to his manager, barely noticing the slight ache in his jaw. "Hi, Susan! Great morning, isn't it?"

Susan gave Hughes a very knowing look, then laughed quietly to herself. "Well I'll be damned, the rumors were true."

Hughes blinked in confusion, but the half-manic grin that had been on his face all morning remained. "Rumors? What rumors?"

"You haven't noticed? You _must_ be on cloud nine." Susan leaned on the partition separating the photography studio from the main section of Wal-Mart and smirked. "We've just got some coworkers of yours contemplating how you got that lovely bruise on your chin, Marc. The consensus seems to be that you got laid last night, and seeing the giddy schoolboy look, I'm inclined to agree with 'em."

Hughes snorted, the grin still there as he went back to his paperwork. "Nope, didn't get laid, Susan. I just ran into an old friend."

Susan gave him a look that spoke volumes. "Uh-huh. _Suuuure_. A friend who saw fit to punch you as soon as you showed up?"

He thought back for a moment, idly touching the bruise on his jawline before smiling widely. "Oddly enough, yeah."

Susan snorted in a most unwomanly way. "Suit yourself. Be sure to invite me to the wedding, though."

The sudden thought of Ed in a dress nearly made Hughes choke.

0o0o0

**May 5, 2006 – 10:21am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

This was the fifth time in two weeks that Reilly stopped by the bank on her way to work to make a withdrawal; each time was for rather large sums of money. She pulled into the parking slot of the bank and shut off the ignition. The old truck rattled and wheezed in protest, then quieted.

Reilly took a deep breath, and rested her head on the steering wheel a moment. This wasn't what she'd intended to do with her inheritance. Nowhere near. But necessity was a bitch and she had a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was going to need this money… soon.

She knew she was taking a big risk with these large withdrawals. Eventually, she was going to run out of plausible excuses; then a suspicious eye would look in her direction and the account would be frozen. On the other hand, if she just left it until she needed it, her account was very likely still going to get frozen and she wouldn't be able to touch any of the money. She hadn't had to field any probing questions about her sudden interest in her modest wealth yet. But she knew they would be coming soon.

She hoped that she wasn't being too terribly obvious. Withdrawing too much at once would get attention from people who don't need to know what's going on or who her guest was; so she tried to take as much as possible, without taking too much, or too often. The problem was that there was this sense of urgency screaming at her every day, and getting louder as each day passed.

She growled low in frustration, and yanked the keys from the ignition. It couldn't be helped now. She just hoped that she could get her hands on the biggest portion of that money before the account was frozen.

0o0o0

Ed was washing up the last of the dishes when he heard Reilly come in. The fact that she was home about three hours early set off little alarm bells in his head; the fact that she didn't say hello, or even poke her head in the kitchen worried him even more.

He found her kneeling down just in the doorway of her closet, unlocking a small metal box. Next to her was a duffle bag with some of the contents spilled out. Mostly rolled up maps and a few small items he wasn't terribly familiar with, but could guess at what they were used for. The compass, he recognized immediately.

_She's preparing to run_, he realized with a sinking feeling.

"Reilly?" he said softly, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

She opened the box up, and Ed saw it nearly filled with money. She looked up at him calmly. "I hope this is enough to get us somewhere safe. I don't think I'm going to be able to get any more money from my account after today."

"Did something happen?"

She shook her head, and fished an envelope out of her purse. She pulled the bills out of it and added them to the rest in the box. "The teller started asking a lot of questions today. If they check, they'll know I haven't been to the home improvement store, the lumberyard, or even hired a contractor."

Ed wasn't sure he understood what she was getting at. "Isn't that money yours?"

"Yeah, but when someone starts withdrawing large amounts of cash all of a sudden, it tends to get the attention of the wrong people. Like the Feds."

"That doesn't make sense."

Reilly sighed and sat back on her heels. "Ed, people tend to follow regular patterns of behavior. At least that's the theory anyone connected to the Federal Government follows. If someone suddenly changes that pattern, they come under suspicion." She started angrily shoving things back into the duffle, along with the cash box.

She had her head down, and her face was covered by her unruly curls, but Ed heard her sniffle. He knelt down near her and cautiously reached out to her. His hand rested on her forearm, stopping her from jamming anything else in the bag.

"I'm far from the quiet type," she whispered. "I vote; I defend this country's Constitution. I've been an activist. I… I believed in what this country stood for. And I've never been afraid to voice my opinions about the government. It was a guaranteed right. Supposedly it still is." When she looked up, her face was wet. "But because of the noise I've made in the past, and because I'm suddenly taking out large sums of money from my own account, I'm likely to be branded a terrorist supporter."

"What?" Ed whispered. He didn't want to think of the implications of what she was saying.

"If I disappear, take this money and run for your goddamned life, Ed."

Ed shook his head. "Reilly, I can't just—"

She fisted the front of his shirt and yanked him roughly down to her level, putting herself nose to nose with him. "Don't be a moron, Ed! If you're captured too, who's gunna save your brother?"

He wanted to argue the point, tell her she was wrong, that they would be able to find Al, and everything would be just fine. He wanted to, but he knew he couldn't. He'd been following the news, and he was smart enough to read between the lines. He knew she was right. He reluctantly nodded, and she let him go.

He sat back, and looked away. Suddenly, he couldn't meet her eyes. "Why?" he asked. He forced himself to look at her. "Why risk your own life for someone you don't even know? You knew this was a possibility, didn't you?"

She nodded and a sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I'd rather die having done what was right, than to live doing what was safe."

She looked down, and scowled. She grasped at his left hand and turned it over, palm up. "Ed, why is your hand all pruney?"

"I was washing the dishes when you came home," he said, puzzled.

"Why?"

"They were dirty?"

She gave him a look somewhere between comical confusion and bemused patience reserved for only the slowest minds. "No, I mean why are you washing them? Why aren't you just putting them in the dishwasher?"

"Dish—huh?!"

"The dishwasher? You know, that big black thing under the counter next to the kitchen sink?"

Ed lurched to his feet and tried to cover up his embarrassment with a tone of offense. "Don't you people ever do anything for yourselves anymore?"

She covered her mouth, but Ed didn't miss the snicker that escaped. "You didn't know it was a dishwasher."

He crossed his arms and scowled. "Of course I did. What do you think I am? Stupid?" He turned and stormed out of the room before Reilly could see him blush. He didn't realize it was a dishwasher, but damned if he was going to let her know.

He heard her giggles trail after him as he headed down the hall and back to the kitchen. Now if he could just figure out how it worked…

0o0o0

**May 6, 2006 – 7:21am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

"Edward Elric!" he heard Reilly yell from the living room. He flinched and slouched down in the kitchen chair in an effort to disappear.

He had no idea just what he did. And it was an accident, anyway. But that wasn't going to make much difference to a not-yet-caffeinated Reilly.

It was a little thing, really. He'd stumbled half-awake into the living room, and went right to the front door to get the morning paper. This had become routine and he could follow the path with his eyes closed. Especially now that he'd cleared a path.

Except that he forgot he'd left those spiked boots by the door… until he stumbled over them, and shoved a spike into the sole of his bare right foot. His reaction was instinctive and instantaneous; and he did what any normal, intelligent person would do. He yelled, jumped back, and started hopping about…

…Right into the small table near the door that held a lamp and a vase.

He was able to save the lamp from toppling over, but the vase got away from him and shattered on the wood floor. He blinked at it blearily a moment, then remembered… he could use alchemy now with no worries about getting caught.

So he did. The logic was simple enough; he broke it, the least he could do was fix it. And he could to that easily. It wasn't like chalk wouldn't wipe right up, either.

However, owing to the arrangement of the living room, the desk that held Reilly's big computer was close by; the tower sitting on the floor, under the desk…

…Right next to the shattered vase.

He drew the array and touched the edges of it. Sparks from the alchemic reaction lit his face up in the dim morning light, illuminating the hell-bent grin that came instantaneously at the energy that surged through him. It felt wonderful to do something he'd mostly denied himself for so long. The crackling almost masked the strange sounds that came from the computer.

When it was all over and the vase was back in its place on the small table, he heard a chirp and glanced over at the monitor. The screen was black and a tiny little white dash blinked accusingly in the upper left-hand corner. Ed had the sneaking suspicion that this was not good.

When Reilly got up a few minutes later, her aghast tone confirmed his suspicions. He briefly wondered if he could transmute himself into a cockroach and go hide under the refrigerator until the storm blew over.

0o0o0

**8:45am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

_Block. Punch. Block. Punch. Punch-punch._

Al tried to focus his breathing as he ran through the forms of his self-defense, the twinges in his muscles telling him he'd really let himself rest for too long without doing any sort of exercise. But it was becoming a good sort of pain.

_Kick. Punch-kick. Punch-punch-kick._

The scars he'd picked up pulled slightly, but it was just the new tissue that would loosen up once Al could move about without someone watching his every move.

_Speaking of..._

Al stopped his forms and looked over his shoulder to the door; and had to stifle a groan of annoyance at the woman watching him. The Social Worker was back; much to Al's dismay. Schooling his face into neutrality, he turned and made a polite bowing motion. "Hello, Ms. Goodson."

Ms. Goodson gave Al a broad grin. "Are you remembering some, John? I don't remember you bowing last time."

Al just shrugged, taking the towel Ray had left him and dabbing at his face to get rid of the sweat. "Felt like the right thing to do. May I ask why the visit?"

"I suppose you may, since it involves you." Ms. Goodson smiled again; the fake kind that made Al very nervous. "Shall we go somewhere to eat? You must be hungry, after that workout."

"Kinda, but Ray is supposed to come get me soon." Al didn't feel like going with the woman. At all.

"We'll leave a message with the receptionist, no worries." That smile reminded Al of a very relaxed cat; the kind that would scratch your hand at the slightest provocation. "I suppose I should tell you about this visit, anyway. The doctors have decided that you should be ready for discharge in a few days."

Al didn't know what to make of that. "Okay, but what about my memories?"

Goodson waved a neatly-manicured hand, as though the thought of memories wasn't important. "There's really nothing they can do about that, so they feel the best thing for us to do is to get you into foster care as soon as you're discharged. Just a moment, John," she said, turning to the receptionist. "Tell Nurse Purdue that his charge is with me in the cafeteria, would you, Sheila?"

Al gulped. _Oh crap, this isn't good_. "Can you tell me where I'd be sent?" he asked, trying to keep the nerves from his voice.

"We aren't sure yet, but somewhere within the Midwest. Can't have you get too far away from your memories, can we?"

Al actually wanted to punch the woman. That light tone of voice was really starting to grate on his nerves.

"Anyway, the paperwork should be done in a few days. Then we'll get you discharged and settled in a new home, all right, Jo--"

The muffled sound of a boom was heard through the walls of the hospital, followed very quickly by the alarms going off. "What was that??" Al asked after a few nervous moments, panic starting to form in the bottom of his gut as sirens wailed through the hospital.

"I have no idea," Goodson answered, for the first time looking at least marginally worried. "We'd better head for the ex--"

"THERE you are!" Al heard Ray's voice proclaim, the wheels of the chair he'd chosen squeaking in pain as the large nurse came to a stop. "Ms. Goodson, Tiger, we need to get out of here. Tiger, get in the wheelchair, c'mon."

Al gulped and did as asked as Goodson nervously eyed the alarm. "Do you know what's going on, Mr. Purdue?"

"No idea." Making sure Al was secure in the wheelchair, he started for the exits at a quick pace. "This isn't a drill, so come on. Heather thought the boom came from the parking ramp, though."

Al's eyes snapped wide open, and all color drained from his face as he remembered, barely registering as Ray skillfully negotiated the crowded hallway.

_"You know, it's not a wise idea to lie to people like me. People are bound to get hurt. People who have nothing to do with this."_

_It's him!_

The mass exodus from the hospital was chaotic, but Ray had somehow navigated through it and landed them both a front-row seat to what had happened.

There had been quite a bit of speculation going around as Al was wheeled into the open, assumptions ranging from a fire breaking out in the boiler room, to a terrorist attack. The mention of terrorism made Al's heart feel like it was going to pound right out of his chest. Getting out of the hospital and heading for the safe area, he could catch a glimpse of what had happened.

It was a bombing. A stealth-bombing of some sort; the snips of conversation he caught from the police nearby told him that no one could figure out how it was done, but three cars had been bombed and destroyed. Thankfully, there seemed to be no casualties.

_"People are bound to get hurt."_

An image flashed in his mind; the ruins of Central, and the crushed hand of a child under a pile of rubble that seconds ago had been a house.

Al knew what he had to do. He had lucked out this time, but next time would be different. Someone would die. So he had to get away, before anyone was actually hurt.

_I can't be indifferent to what happens to these people. I have to protect them._

Without a second thought, he jumped up from his wheelchair and took off.

He barely heard Ray's "TIGER!" as he darted away, dodging between hordes of people to get away. He heard people following him, and ran faster. It was only when he felt strong arms tackle him amidships and pull him to the ground that he stopped, kicking and thrashing with all his might.

"LET ME GO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" _They don't understand! I can't stay here anymore! They're in danger!_ "You're not safe here! Let me go!"

Al heard a muffled grunt from Ray as his foot connected with a shin. Still thrashing, Al struggled to get out of Ray's hold as the large nurse called for something from his colleagues. It wasn't too soon after that a "Sorry, Tiger," left his lips, and Al felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.

Then he knew nothing else.

0o0o0

**9:17am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Reilly leaned against the counter guarding the coffee pot with a vigilance usually reserved for places like Fort Knox. Silently, she glared at the diminutive blonde sitting at the table who had his arms crossed, and was scowling down at the empty cup in front of him.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that would happen?" he snapped, finally.

Reilly just growled, and sipped at her coffee.

The front door opened, and Tom called from the living room. "Hey! Anyone up yet?" He stumbled into the kitchen and glanced back to see what had tripped him. "Reilly, I thought you were working on these floors."

She growled again, and waved a hand in Ed's direction. "Blame Leadfoot."

Ed gritted his teeth and pointed at his foot. "It's steel, damnit!

"Whatever."

Tom looked from one to the other and grinned. "Well, I'm glad to see the two of you woke up in your usual cheery moods." He instinctively flinched when they both glared daggers at him.

"Actually, Ducky called," Tom said as soon as he realized that he wasn't going to die a horrible death just yet. "He's on his way over. Said he found something."

"Ducky always 'finds something'," Reilly said. "The question is did he find something useful?"

"Probably. Said he found it on the net though, so it's hard to say how reliable it is."

Reilly set her cup down on the counter. "Let's hope he brought his laptop, then."

Tom gave her a puzzled look. "Doesn't he always?"

She cast a glare at Ed, who slunk down further in his seat, then stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room. "This would be the one time he wouldn't."

Tom followed her. "Uh-oh, the old 'Reilly luck'? What happened?"

She stomped up to the desk, and spun the monitor around so Tom could see it. The screen was black, except for a lone little cursor awaiting a prompt.

"This is not good, no," Tom said. "So reinstall everything. You've got back-ups." He waited for a response, and when one wasn't forthcoming, he winced. "You don't have back-ups."

"Oh, I have back-ups. For _most_ of it." Reilly glared as Ed crept into the living room. "I'm just waiting to get over my mad to do it."

"You know, that wouldn't've happened if that stupid thing had some kind of protection around it," Ed snapped.

"It's not like we have shrimps with metal limbs running around doing alchemy on a daily basis here, you know!"

Tom took several steps back to get out of the line of fire.

"And it's not like static electricity is rare around here, either!"

"Not everyone is a walking, talking _Van De Graff_, Edward!"

Ducky poked his head in the door, took in the scene playing out before him, and snickered. He came the rest of the way in and stood next to Tom. "Looks like I'm just in time for the main act."

"Months of research! Gone!"

"It's not my fault you left the damn floppy whatchamacallit in the slot!"

"What the hell are you doing still using floppies, Reilly?" Ducky asked with a laugh.

Both she and Ed spun on him and shouted in unison, "Stay out of this!"

Ducky threw up his hands and took a step back, but his jocular mood didn't dim any.

Reilly glared at Ed and pointed at him. "Don't yell at him! I'm the only one who can do that."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Ed snapped with a scowl. "Did you just call me a shrimp, old woman?"

Tom grabbed Ducky by the arm and spun him around. "Out, now," he said as he pushed him toward the door.

0o0o0

Thirty minutes later, the two men were still outside calmly leaning against the side of Ducky's minivan, waiting for the storm inside to blow over. Something crashed, and the young hacker winced. "That sounded expensive."

Tom lit a cigarette, and said, "So, you said you found something?"

"A lead anyway."

"You brought the laptop?"

"Don't I always?"

"Well, we are talking about Reilly's luck, here."

Ducky snorted. "Good point." He walked around to the back of the van, and opened the doors. He pulled a case out of the ton of computer parts and diagnostic tools, opened it up, and turned it on. "I even saved the whole page to the hard drive."

"Resourceful," Tom said.

Ducky laughed. "I'm a geek. That means I'm socially awkward, not an idiot."

Tom looked over Ducky's shoulder at the laptop, and snorted. "You're also a psycho, but that's a good thing. Hmmm. John Doe?" he said as he stared at the picture on the screen. "Well, there does seem to be a resemblance, anyway. So my contact's info was good."

"Looks that way."

The front door banged open and Reilly stormed out. Right on her heels was Ed. Neither of them looked happy.

"Looks like we have a cease-fire, at least," Tom said, as he peeked around the van doors.

Ducky stepped out, and grinned, "Hey Terminator, I got something you might wanna see."

Ed stopped dead in his tracks, and gave Ducky a look that was a cross between confusion and annoyance. "What's with the nickname?"

"Show you later," Ducky said, and waved at the back of his van. "Look! John Doe, approximate age, 14."

Ed trotted past Reilly, to the back of the van and peered over the hacker's shoulder. His eyes went wide, and his face was nearly split by a huge grin. "It's Al!"

"Damn," Ducky mumbled. "And I was hoping for a Terminator look-alike."

Ed gave Ducky a dirty look, and then leaned in closer. Ducky held him back and shook his head. "Uh-uh. You wipe out my hard drive and I'll break off that metal arm and beat you to death with it."

Ed scowled and stepped back. "Fine. So what's it say? Where is he?"

"Looks like he was a victim of a hit and run," Ducky said, peering at the screen. "He's at an undisclosed hospital in Wichita, Kansas."

Reilly joined the group and leaned against Tom. Ed looked back at her, expectantly. "Is that far?"

She shook her head. "A couple of hours."

Ed looked from one to the other. He wanted to do something _right now_. So badly he was practically vibrating. "So? What are we waiting for? Let's go get him."

Tom held up a hand, the center of calm in a growing storm. "Not so fast, kid. Your brother is at a hospital. My guess is it's a private one, too. Unlike your namesake, you can't just go charging in there, tear the place up, and expect to get out with your brother. At least, not until we know which hospital."

Ed blinked. "Hosp—? Why the fuck is Al in a hospital?! And what the hell is a hit and run?!"

"And why a private one?" Ducky asked.

"Easy," Tom said. "Sometimes private hospitals will take the state's overflow."

"You don't have any clue which hospital it is?" Reilly asked.

Ducky shook his head. "The story didn't say." He gave them a wicked grin. "But that doesn't mean I can't find out."

"Excuse me?!" Ed shouted. "What the hell is a hit and run?"

The other three looked at each other nervously. Reilly bit her lip and looked down at the ground. "Ed, it means he was hit by a car, and the driver didn't stop to see if he was hurt."

"**WHAT?!**"

Tom grabbed both of the boy's arms from behind before he could launch himself at Reilly. "Settle down, Ed. He's in the hospital, but his injuries aren't listed as serious."

About that time Hughes pulled up and stepped out of his car. He leaned on the top of the open driver's door and just watched the scene with a bemused smile. As soon as Ed calmed down, he shut the door and strode toward the group. "Reilly, are you tormenting him again?"

She snorted and waved. "Every chance I get, Maes. But not this time."

Ed jerked free of Tom's grip and spun on Hughes. His eyes were alight with excitement, impatience, and deeply etched worry. "They found Al!"

"Correction," Tom said. "We've narrowed the location down to one city."

Hughes's brows shot up. "That's quite a lot."

"We need to make plans," Reilly said.

Ducky closed the laptop and faced Hughes with a wolfish grin. "Good morning, Mr. Phelps. Your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to rescue Terminator Junior from an undisclosed location, where he is being kept under heavy guard--"

Hughes chuckled and the group headed into the house. Except for Ed, who just stared at the backs of everyone with a very befuddled and slightly frightened look. "I'm surrounded by nut cases."

"--As always, should you, or any member of your I.M. force be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds," Ducky finished.

Hughes laid an arm over Ducky's shoulder and said, "You watch way too much television, son."

"Yeah," Ducky said, as they stepped through the door. "But I retained all my brain cells."

Ed had caught up, and muttered from behind them, "And warped the hell out of them."


	10. Ch 9 You Aint From Around Here Are You

"**You Ain't From Around Here, Are You?"**

**Arc One; Chapter Nine**

**Balance of Power**

**May 6, 2006 – 12:34pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Ray was officially "off duty", but he wasn't about to leave Tiger's side now. Not after all hell broke loose earlier. That explosion freaked out a lot of people, but it got to the kid in a way no one else had expected.

Except Ray, that is.

The boy lied well when he was awake, but he talked in his sleep. As far as the big nurse knew, he was the only one who'd heard some of the dreamed confessions, and as far as he was concerned, it was just as well. If what Tiger had mumbled in his restless sleep was anything close to reality, the boy had a valid reason for lying and Ray wasn't about to spill the beans to anyone else.

On the other hand, if he was going to help the kid out, he needed to know the truth. He just hoped that Tiger still trusted him after that tackle earlier.

He yawned and stretched his long legs out in front of him, then glanced at his watch. He'll be coming out of the sedative soon. He could tell the drugs were starting to wear off, because Tiger was beginning to move around. He wasn't going to move far, though. As much as Ray hated it, he had to keep Tiger strapped down. If he wasn't, he'd come flying off that bed as soon as he regained consciousness, and possibly hurt himself worse than he already was.

Right on time. Ray heard Tiger start to mumble in his sleep. The words coming from the boy's lips weren't the lost, frightened, and heartbroken musings he'd heard before, though.

"Transmute U-235 to U-238. Make water into heavier water. Take it down in stages or it'll blow. Transmute it to Radon-222…" Tiger said, the words as clear as if he were lucid. "I-I'm not lying. I don't remember how I got there."

Ray's brow furrowed as he leaned forward to listen. _Transmute? And the kid's talking about Uranium._ A chill swept over Ray, and he wondered if perhaps the Fed-boy wasn't on to something. _But no_, he thought. _Tiger isn't a terrorist. He doesn't have it in him._ Tiger's head moved back and forth, like he was studying an object in front of him, and Ray saw his hands working. _He's reliving something. Dreaming something mixed in with that damned Fed-boy. I'll bet good money that bastard had something to do with the explosion. And I'd bet the farm that Tiger knows it, too._

"Take it down in stages or it'll blow. I'm not a terrorist, I don't know anything. Radon is a heavy noble gas," Tiger continued. His voice was calm, but tense. "It's settling at the bottom of the cylinder. Damnit, the transmutation cracked the case! What does he know? He acts like he knows who I am." Tiger started thrashing, and a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. "Brother, we have to go! I can't tell him about you. What if he knows about the gate? It's gunna blow!" The boy's left hand twitched like he was grasping something, and his feet kicked.

_He's running for his goddamn life_, Ray realized.

"Leave them alone, they have nothing to do with this. I told you I don't remember. **BROTHER**!" The boy shouted as his eyes snapped open and he lurched against the straps.

Ray got to his feet and gently, but firmly grasped the boy's shoulders. "Easy, Tiger. You're safe now," he said just loud enough to be heard over the boy's terrified gasping.

After a long moment Tiger's eyes lost their terrified contraction and relaxed into lucidity. Then they focused on Ray and became accusing. "You tackled me," he complained.

Ray chuckled and settled back in the chair. "Well, you were running right into Fed-boy's clutches, kid. I had to do something quick." He rubbed at his shin, and smirked. "You're pretty damn fast, and you kick like a mule."

Tiger scowled and tried to raise his hands, then blinked in brief confusion when he couldn't. With a shocked expression, he glared down his body and saw he was strapped. "What the hell is this?"

"Can't very well have you bolting again, now can we?"

The boy swallowed and his lower lip trembled. He heaved a deep sigh, and turned his head away. "I have to get out of here," he whispered. "People are going to get hurt if I stay."

"Why?"

Tiger's voice could barely be heard. "I-I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Ray."

Ray let the words hang in the air for a long moment. The kid needed help, and damn him, he was going to give him what he could. _So much for professional distance_, he thought. He didn't know why Tiger was so special, but his gut told him this was no ordinary 14 year old. He saw it in the kid's eyes in unguarded moments; he'd seen far more than someone his age should have, and never lost his gentleness. The kid was a hell of a lot smarter than he let on, and far older mentally than his body looked.

"So who's Brother?" he asked finally.

He saw Tiger stiffen slightly, but he kept his face turned away from him. "Who?" he asked in feigned innocence.

"Come on, Tiger. People don't cry out for a brother in their sleep, unless they _have_ a brother."

He watched as the boy attempted a shrug. "I wouldn't know."

"Funny," Ray said. "You were better at lying before this."

Tiger's head snapped around and he gave Ray a terrified look. The big nurse just leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He held the upper hand as long as the boy was strapped in. He wasn't about to give it up just yet.

"I'm the white-hat here, remember?" he said. "And right now, you need to trust someone."

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry." A tear slid unnoticed out of the boy's eye. "It's dangerous; believe that, okay?"

Ray snorted. "Kid, I was a Marine. Special Forces. I spent damn near twenty years eating, sleeping, breathing, and shitting danger." He leaned forward. "I told you I don't like that Fed-boy. He's a spook that lurks in shadows and plays sneaky, underhanded games. Those cockroaches did more to fuck up our missions than the enemy did." He gave Tiger a wolfish grin. "It won't break my heart any to earn a few more scars if it means I can frag his little mission."

The boy swallowed, but started to relax a little. Satisfied, Ray sat back. "I understand need-to-know, Tiger. And right now, I need to know. If I'm going to help you stay away from that slime and find your brother, I gotta know everything."

Ray waited patiently, calmly watching the emotions play across Tiger's face as he considered his nurse's words. Sensing the hesitation, Ray continued. "Quid pro quo, Tiger. I'll give you something, but you need to give me something in return, 'kay?"

A small, weary smile crept onto Tiger's face. "Equivalent exchange, you mean."

Ray laughed quietly. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose." The large man stretched tiredly, yawning. "All right, first thing's first. The general rule of thumb is 'If you're lost, stay put.' I can keep it so that you stay here; no Social Services, no Fed-Boy, until your brother manages to find you. But I need to know what's going on, and why Fed-Boy wants you so bad, kid."

Tiger took several moments to digest this info, staring intently at Ray's face, until the nurse felt almost like a test subject himself. With a sigh of resignation, the boy looked away again. "Untie my hands."

Ray chuckled wryly, shifting to rest his weight on his elbows. "Not until you fill me in, Tiger. I don't want you to take off without—"

"It'd be easier to show you. Just undo my hands and… let me borrow your pen. Nothing else. I promise I won't run."

Giving Tiger a wary look, Ray undid the leather straps that held the boy's hands at his side then handed him his ballpoint. He raised an eyebrow as the kid drew a perfect circle with several triangles in it without even looking. Then he brought a hand down to rest on the leather strap across his stomach, at the edge of the circle. With a gentle sigh, Tiger closed his eyes and concentrated.

A soft glowing light started flaring up from the circle and spread to the leather straps, making Ray's eyes widen as the other straps holding Tiger down melted from him, to reform at the sides of the bed, undone and unharmed. The ex-Marine couldn't hold in the whistle of amazement. "What the hell do you call that, Tiger?"

Tiger sat up slowly, rolling his shoulder and stretching out sore muscles before answering. "Alchemy," he said as he handed the pen back to Ray.

Ray blinked, not sure if he'd heard right. "Come again?"

The kid sighed, settling on the bed cross-legged and looking at Ray. "It's alchemy, the science of transmutation. And that's why that Bond-guy wants me. He knows I can do it."

Whatever Ray thought he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. It took him a moment to find his voice again. "Well, that explains why you couldn't tell anyone." Then the name registered in his brain. "Waaaaitaminnit… Fed-Boy's name is _Bond_?"

Tiger blinked, looking thoroughly confused. "Yeah, why? Is that important?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ray couldn't help it. He snickered. "His first name wouldn't happen to be James, would it?"

Poor Tiger looked thoroughly confused by this line of questioning. "Uh, yeah. How'd you guess?"

The snickering upped itself to a full-blown chortle for a few moments, before Ray cleared his throat and tried to get serious again. But the façade cracked in about three seconds, and he was back to laughing.

Tiger looked put out. "I don't see what's so funny about his name being James Bond…."

Ray gasped for breath, then shook his head. "Gimme a sec, Tiger, and I'll show you." Snatching the remote off the bed, Ray aimed it at the TV, and quickly flipped it to a channel with the letters 'TBS' in the corner. "Oh, score, right at the best lines," he chuckled, watching as the TV warmed up to the scenes.

Tiger watched in amazement as the picture appeared, and he heard voices coming from the speakers.

"_Do you expect me to talk?"_

"_No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!" _

A look of incredulity crossed Tiger's face, watching the lasers advance on the James Bond on the screen, and Ray just kept giggling as the scene continued, enjoying the irony of the entire thing.

"_I think you made your point. Thank you for the demonstration."_

"_Choose your next witticism carefully Mr. Bond, it may be your last." _

Tiger continued to watch the scene, and gradually began to giggle. It was a few moments later that a pure laugh escaped the teenager, and he flopped back onto the pillow with a gasp. "Damn, that's hilarious!"

Ray gasped to get his laughter under control, and then turned the TV off again. "You know, kid, with a name like that, I kinda doubt the man's from around here. No parent would be so cruel to name their child James _Bond_."

Tiger coughed a bit, winced, and looked up, adjusting so he was settled back against the pillows more comfortably. "How about Alphonse Elric?"

Ray blinked. "No, that name's fine. Little odd, but fine." He looked at Tiger, understanding in his eyes. "That's your name, huh?"

Tiger—well, Alphonse, Ray mentally corrected—nodded once. "Yeah."

"Well then, Alphonse," the large nurse said, settling back. "Let's put our heads together, and figure out how we're going to keep you right here."

Alphonse nodded once. "Right."

0o0o0

Singer watched from the edges of the crowd, as the final clean up was under way and the mayhem had settled down to controlled chaos. When the last of the fire trucks rolled away, he looked up at one particular hospital room window. The far traveler with a wolf's spirit was going to be fine now. He had a protector.

He shouldered his duffle and headed off toward the southeast. There was another who needed him now.

0o0o0

Ed was grinding his teeth.

There were five people in the kitchen, _supposedly_ making plans for getting his brother. Except he seemed to be the only one taking this seriously. Everyone else was chattering away, making nonsensical comments with references that only they seemed to get; Ed was completely out of the loop on most of them. Damnit, even Hughes was able to play along, it seemed.

"How damned hard could it be?" he'd railed earlier, and got a fatherly lecture from Tom about the size of the city, the number of hospitals, and the difficulty in breaking someone out with the electronics and computers and security systems. Ed could only wonder why on earth any hospital would need a security system that would rival Lab Five in its heyday. It didn't speak well of the way society had progressed in his opinion.

"Ed," Hughes said. "Think of how hard it would be to find Al in Central. Now multiply that by a factor of five."

That instantly took the wind out of his sails. Ed slumped with his back against the counter. He knew both Tom and Hughes were right, but that didn't make it any easier to just sit and wait. He was used to just going in and doing something. Now. Plans and the later consequences be damned. Of course, he didn't have the Bastard Colonel to pull his chestnuts out of the fire here, either. _Dammit_.

Ed took a sip of the coffee that Reilly had finally allowed him near and grimaced. She'd made it this morning and it was horrid. With a disgusted sigh, he set the cup on the counter and headed into the living room. _Let them make their plans_, he thought. He needed to get his mind off Al for awhile, or he'd go completely buggy.

He figured the best way to get his mind off worrying about his brother was to kill a few brain cells. He just couldn't decide if he wanted to watch something stupid on the TV, or to play a game. Either way it required the remote, and once more the couch seemed to have eaten it.

Ed half listened to the conversation coming from the kitchen, as he dug through the cushions and raised a brow at some of the stuff he heard.

"All right," Tom said. "So that's the preliminary plan. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Ducky said. "Can we get a cappuccino machine in here, 'cause I don't know what you call this."

Ed snorted. _Even Ducky hates Reilly's coffee_.

"I call it cruel and unusual," Hughes laughed.

"Hey, I made that coffee!" Reilly protested.

"Exactly," Hughes said.

"Watch it Hughes."

"Uh-oh," Ducky said. "She's getting that dangerous tone to her voice. You'd better duck."

Ed rolled his eyes and fished the remote from the hungry couch. He flopped down, propped his feet on the coffee table, and hit the power button. The volume was down low, so Ed couldn't hear; but he didn't need to while he was… what was it Reilly called it? Surfing? It seemed that whenever Ed actually turned the TV on that was all he did, anyway. He could never quite settle on just one channel for more that five or ten minutes most of the time. Every now and then, he caught something interesting, but not often. Usually it was on one of the _educational entertainment_ channels.

He'd actually started getting interested in much of the History Channel at one point. Then they had some World War Two marathon. He watched about half of one show and had to shut it off. It had left him shaking and sweating just thinking about what he and Al had managed to avoid; and it made him physically ill when he considered the friends he'd left behind that had to experience that. People like Gracia and Hughes from this world. And… Noah. His heart ached at the very thought of her living through that, and he silently prayed that all of them found a way to get out of the country before that war started.

Ed was grateful he was alone that day as he hung over the toilet, shaking and crying, and praying to a God he didn't believe in that Noah didn't fall victim to that horror. He didn't watch that channel again. And he didn't want to confirm her fate, either. He was too afraid of what the answer would be. He would much rather go on thinking she made it out of there, and survived. It was easier than thinking that he'd abandoned her when she needed him most.

Uproarious laughter yanked him from his musings, and his ears perked up.

"I saved your ass again, Jack" Ducky laughed.

"Give me a break, Pops," Hughes said.

Ed groaned and buried his face in his flesh hand. From the tones, he could tell they were quoting some stupid movie again. He couldn't believe that Hughes was able to keep up, though.

_Although, being here alone for four years gives one a lot of time to do nothing but think about who you left behind, or zone out with mindless entertainment_, he thought. _Which Hell is worse? Thinking about people you'll never see again, or frying your brain and forgetting, even for a little while?_ Ed didn't think he could answer that one.

"And it's such a nice ass," Reilly said.

Ed felt his face heat up and he coughed.

"And a lonely ass," Hughes said.

Ed choked.

Ducky laughed. "Careful there, Maes. Ed might not like giving up his Toy-Boy status."

Ed's jaw clenched and he saw red. He was just about to bellow something along the lines of not being Reilly's toy-boy, when something on the television caught his eye.

There was a lot of confusion as people were moving about, rolling wheelchairs, fire trucks, and police. There were people in uniforms, both doctors and nurses, and patients being transferred. But it was the crawl at the bottom of the screen that caught his eyes.

"HUGHES!" Ed yelled, as he launched himself off the couch and turned up the volume.

He stalked into the kitchen, and something in his face must have startled the man, because Hughes backed up with his hands raised, and a furious blush coloring his cheeks. "We were just joking around Ed."

"Huh?" The comments from a moment ago were completely forgotten.

Ed shook his head and turned on Ducky. The hacker flinched and did a fine imitation of a startled turtle.

Ed pointed at the TV and said, "What was the name of the city you said Al's in?"

"Wichita, Kansas. Why?"

Ed was suddenly breathless and couldn't make his voice work. Instead he grabbed Ducky by the front of his shirt and hauled him out of the kitchen chair.

"Hey, dude!" Ducky said. "I'm real flattered and all, but you're not exactly my type."

Ed just glared, and dragged Ducky into the living room. The news story was still running, and Ed pointed. "That!"

The rest of the group had followed, and they all watched as the reporter told about a bomb that had gone off at a hospital in Wichita. The materials used, and the circumstances surrounding the explosion were a mystery at the moment. She said that the Fire Marshall didn't even have a preliminary report as of yet.

"Holy shit," Tom drawled.

"Reilly," Ducky said, prying Ed's fist off the front of his shirt.

"Phone's on the desk," she answered.

"You think it's possible he's there?" Hughes asked.

"That's what Ducky's gunna find out," Tom said. "He's got some friends in the city who have some 'connections'."

Ed just stared at the TV, watching in horrified fascination. Part of him hoped that Al was there and they would be able to go in and get him. Another part prayed he wasn't.

_Al_, he thought. _Don't you dare get yourself hurt, or I'm gunna kill you_.

0o0o0

**2:15pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

"Mr. Purdue!"

Ray resisted the urge to crunch the files he was currently going through. _That infernal nosy bitch is back_, he thought quietly as he plastered a smile onto his face. "Why, Ms. Goodson, what a pleasant surprise this is."

"I'm sure, Mr. Purdue." The woman looked down an overly long nose at Ray, and he had to stuff the urge to throttle the woman deep into the back of his mind. "Now, I wanted to speak to you about John."

Ray blinked in feigned confusion. "John? Ohhh, y'mean Tiger. What about him do you wanna know?"

Goodson pursed her lips together, and Ray wondered if she'd eaten a lemon before she'd come to speak with him. "I was wondering if any of the doctors here at the hospital had had a chance to re-examine the boy for evidence of previous injuries."

Ray struggled to keep the false innocence on his face. Fortunately, he wasn't lying about this. "He had X-rays when he came in, but there weren't any previous injuries present that we could see." _Not that we could really tell, since he'd just been hit by a goddamn vehicle. Idiot. _"Though if you'll pardon my saying so, I'm not supposed to discuss patients with you. You'll need to go through the regular process, Ms. Goodson. You understand, the HIPAA rules and all."

"I already have, and I've been given the runaround, Mr. Purdue." The woman frowned at the files in Ray's hand, and he had to resist the urge to snigger at her misfortune. "You do realize it's against the law to hide information from Social Services, don't you?"

Ray smirked, crossing his arms and looking down at the small woman. "You also realize that I can't say a damn word about a patient if the person asking isn't either his doctor or immediate family, right?" He leaned down and smirked in her face, barely able to contain his glee. "Unless I want to lose my job. You wouldn't want that to happen, now would you?"

"Maybe it would teach you some manners," she retorted, staring down at him over her glasses; quite a feat, considering Ray's height. "I know you're hiding something horrid about that boy. It's only a matter of time before I find out; then I'll get him into the proper foster home he needs to be in."

Ray resisted the urge to snort. "Whatever you say, ma'am. I need to be getting back to my duties, so I'll see you around." Waving as he left, Ray beat a hasty retreat.

_We really aren't hiding anything much_, Ray thought as he went to visit his other patients. _Just the fact Tiger is from a different time and place. Thank God the kid really __**doesn't**__ have any actual injuries, per se... It's just the absence of baby fat that might get Goodson's attention. It almost looks like he was malnourished for awhile, and his body is only now catching up to where it's supposed to be._ Ray frowned deeply. _I should really talk to Tiger about that; something about it doesn't sit right with me. He's leaving something out. _

0o0o0

**2:35pm**

"So what should we do with him, Ray?"

Ray looked up from the disgusting coffee he'd been contemplating for the last several minutes and smiled briefly at his boss. "Hey, Heather."

Heather smiled and took a seat. "You look dead on your feet. Feeling all right?"

"Yeah." His gaze went back to the Styrofoam cup and he sighed. "I'm just worried about Tiger, is all."

The head nurse gave a curt nod, resting her chin on her hand to prop it up. "Did he wake up after you tranqed him?"

"Yeah, he did." Ray downed a gulp of the bitter liquid in front of him, winced, and shoved it away from him. The ideas Tiger had given him were making his head hurt, and the coffee did nothing to help the ache go away.

"And?"

Ray blinked. "And what?"

"Why are you worried about him, you dork?" Heather asked, giving his large hand a squeeze. "You don't worry over nothing, Ray. What's got you nervous?"

Ray sighed. If he was going to do this, he'd need her support. He'd just hoped to assimilate the information a bit more before coming to her with it. "I talked with the kid a bit, after he came to again. He... he was honestly scared about the bombing, Heather, but not for any reason we'd think."

"What reason do you think he was scared, then?"

_Here goes_. "I think he freaked out about the bombing, not because he had anything to do with it, but because he thinks that Fed-boy caused it." Ray sighed. "I overheard them talking, that first time the Fed came to talk with Tiger. It sounded like he was threatening the poor kiddo." He looked up slightly through pale bangs, the memories of his years in the Marines swimming in his mind as he spoke. "That kid wasn't afraid of the bomb. He was afraid that something else would happen, and he'd be the cause of it."

Heather digested the news quietly for a few moments, snagging Ray's coffee and trying it as she thought. "God, they expect us to survive with this crap?" she joked weakly, before setting it aside again. "I had a feeling there was something about him."

Ray's brows shot up. "Oh?"

Heather smiled slightly. "The night Alexis died. I was outside the door when he was crying in his sleep. The kid's carrying one hell of a GuiltZilla, isn't he?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"So... what do you want to do about this, Ray?"

Ray blinked. "You think we can do anything?"

Heather grinned at her subordinate. "You're a former marine, right? I'd hope you'd catch undertones and veiled threats if you were eavesdropping. And I trust your judgment. So," she reiterated, "What do you want to do about this?"

The large nurse breathed a sigh of relief, a heavy weight coming off his shoulders just enough to let him breathe. "Keep him away from Fed-Boy, for sure. He only gets worse with that damn agent nosing around."

"And you suggest doing that, how? We can't keep him around the hospital anymore; not the main hospital, anyway."

Ray thought, then sighed. "My only suggestion is to put him in the psychiatric ward here in the hospital, and make a note that he's only to have nurses he's got a rapport with, which are you and me. As for Fed-Boy... make a note in his file that he's been transferred to another hospital? Somewhere out of state?"

Heather laughed. "Not that he should be able to get the info, anyway. Hooray for HIPAA."

"'Bout time that damn law worked in our favor," Ray commented, grinning. "But he's a Fed, so I'll bet he'll try to use that to get the info. So we leave the info altered for a few days, until we know he's out of the state, then correct it."

His boss frowned, taking another sip of Ray's coffee despite the suckitude of the drink. "It'll take calling in quite a few favors, and we need to get a doctor to sign off on this. He's not a danger to anyone else, right?" she asked, slightly curious.

Ray snorted. "He wouldn't hurt a fly if it came up and bit him. Have you seen that kid with the drug babies in neo-natal? Kid's a goddamn blessing to that unit."

"So you want him to keep visiting there, huh?"

"Yeah. Kid'd be heartbroken if he couldn't hold the little tykes."

"Maybe we can put a note in his file saying that it calms him; they'd probably let him go more often, once he'd been there under supervision a few times." Heather smiled. "Shall I go get this plan rolling, Ray? I can probably bribe Dr. Kaupt with a date to get him to sign this off."

Ray smiled. "You'd do that for Tiger? I thought you hated Kaupt."

Heather smirked, and Ray was reminded just why so many of the hospital staff feared Heather Breach. "You'll owe me a decent dinner one of these times, all right? And maybe intelligent conversation that doesn't consist of either hospital jargon or sports."

Ray offered his hand, smirking. "You got yourself a deal, Breach."

0o0o0

**3:06pm**

Sidney was just on his way down to the commissary for another disappointing cup of tea when the hall was filled with a tinny electronic version of the Bond theme. He had half a second to wonder where the obnoxious music was coming from when his cell phone began to vibrate in time to it. He stopped where he stood to find his phone, and found that the more frantic his need became to find it and shut off the infernal racket, the louder it became. Finally, he produced the phone and flipped it open.

"Bond here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a nurse cover her mouth to snicker, and he turned his gaze skyward, as if to pray for strength from some deity or other. It was too bad he was an atheist, because he wouldn't have minded praying for divine intervention when the perky female voice sounded over the line.

"How did you— never mind, I don't want to know." He waited a few moments, and decided the pathetic selection of hospital teas was not going to soothe his temper after this conversation. "No, I did not appreciate the 'ring tone.' I don't think it's appropriate… NO. I told you, stop talking for five seconds…" He held the phone away from his ear for a moment as the woman's volume increased and pinched the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he let himself be pulled back into the conversation.

"Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should," he told her. For instance, just because he could turn her into a bright, primary-colored smear on the floor the next time he saw her, and even though he really wanted to at the moment, didn't mean that he would. Sidney felt he was exercising great restraint, but he didn't feel like telling her that. "You— what? Mexican hat da— No I would not appreciate that more!"

The hospital doors loomed ahead, and Sidney stopped walking long enough to fish out his sunglasses before stepping out into the bright May sunshine. If there was one thing he didn't miss about Amestris it was the summer weather, but Middle America was a close second on his list of Places Best Not Visited Again. Given the choice, he would've avoided the place entirely, but his contact had been rather vehement when she gave him the kid's location. He supposed she was useful for that much, but she was so damned annoying! He was halfway to the coffeehouse across the street when she finally got down to business.

"What have you got?" She rambled for a few minutes, but there were a few useful facts sprinkled in the drivel. "In plain English, please," he growled when she went off on some scientific tangent about geometric configurations and "concentric ripple effect," and she finally rattled off a few interesting points for him. The tired-looking barista in the coffeehouse glared at him for not shutting off his cell, but he ignored her and ordered a "grande chai tea latte," whatever the hell that was.

The woman on the other end launched into a monologue on the good qualities of chai as a stimulant, but Sidney ignored her. "Get back to the point! I don't have time for… What the hell are you doing in New Mexico?" When she had to take a deep breath before going into her explanation, he cut her off. "Is this relevant? Road trip, I see… I don't care if it's the 'greatest research project ever,' I'd want some results!"

She gave him a time frame, and he huffed into his miserable chai. "I may not have that long, my investigation is cooling down. No, my other sources…" He took a sip of the scalding tea, and choked at her next comment. "NO, I do not need to get l— I do not appreciate your insinuations on my personal life!" Nevermind that she was right, it was still something he didn't intend to discuss over a phone, or at all.

"Is there anything else?" he finally asked. She made another obscure comment, and he pulled the phone from his ear to stare, bewildered at the device. "What? What the fuck is a Mulderandscully?" He massaged his temple as an eerie melody played over the phone, and gave up trying to understand her. "I'm hanging up," Sidney said. "Don't call me unless you have something useful."

"But the truth is out there, man!" trailed enthusiastically out of the phone before he disconnected the call, and he took another sip of the chai. Gone cold. He dumped it into a nearby waste receptacle and turned the phone off.

It was time to try the kid again.

0o0o0

**3:20pm**

"Hey there, good-looking. I thought you were working the evening shifts now?"

Heather glared at the tabletop in front of her, her cup of coffee suddenly looking like a very nice projectile. She'd been hoping she wouldn't have to deal with this, but apparently the young doctor was more persistent than she thought. "Hello, Kaupt."

"Why so formal?" The young-ish doctor grinned, taking a seat next to Heather. "I have a first name, you know. Tate? Ring a bell?"

"I'd rather it didn't, honestly."

"Oooo, harsh." Leaning against the table, Kaupt grinned. "C'mon, Heather. You're the one who wanted to meet with me. Now spill it; what is it you wanted to talk about, hmm?"

"Well..." _Here goes nothing_, she thought as she sat up straight and looked at him. "I wanted to ask you a favor."

"Oooo, a favor, huh?" Kaupt grinned wider, resting his chin in his hand. "And what can I do for the lovely Heather Breach, hmmm?"

"Umm..." Heather didn't quite know what she was stalling for, but she just didn't want to come out with it.

"'ello, Heather!"

_Saved by the Scot_. "Oh, hey, Alden!"

An average-looking redhead leaned against the doorway to the cafeteria, smiling softly. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his soft voice flavored by just a hint of a Scottish accent.

"No, actually I need to talk to you." Heather smirked, getting up and leaving her coffee. "Sorry, Kaupt, I really don't need to ask you anything. See you later!"

"What uh -- hey! That's not fair, Heather!"

Alden chuckled wryly as he turned towards the hallway, ignoring the blustering man at the table. "Boyfriend troubles?" he asked, a laugh in his eyes.

Heather snorted. "He wishes," she retorted. "But it's nice to see you again. Did you get called in?"

"Aye." Hands in his doctor's jacket, Alden sighed. "Some lady came in with an abdominal wound who was allergic to normal antibiotics, so they had me come over."

"Ooo, the specialist aspect, huh?" Heather nodded sympathetically. "Ummm... while you're here, Alden, would you mind checking on one of my patients?"

Alden raised an eyebrow. "If y'need me to, aye, I can. May I ask why I need to look in on him?"

Heather sighed. "It's a long story."

"Mmmphm." Alden frowned lightly, then shrugged. "I'll see what I can do."

Heather's eyes lit up, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Wonderful. It's more than my ass on the line in this case, and I doubt I could've counted on Kaupt to keep his mouth shut."

"Not without having to promise more'n one date, I'll reckon," Alden replied, chuckling to himself. "Now then, lass. Tell me what you can, and I'll do what I must."

0o0o0

**4:05pm**

Al was really getting tired of being strapped down to a bed. At least before his attempt to run, he could do something like, say, scratch his nose. Now he had to lay there and stare at the ceiling, until Ray or Heather got some doctor to declare him unfit for release and taken to another wing of the hospital.

In Al's opinion, they were taking too damn long.

He was tired of being strapped down like he was a flight risk. Not that he couldn't understand why they had pinned him to his bed, but dammit, he was starting to get cramps, and it wasn't doing anything for his mood at the moment.

Just when he was going to give it up for lost and try to draw a transmutation circle on the leather so he could get out, he heard a sharp knock on the door before it opened, to reveal Heather, a nervous-looking Ray, and a redheaded doctor Al had never seen before. Al blinked, letting his head settle back on the pillow with a faint crinkle. "Ummm... hello?"

The redhead nodded once, reading the file in front of him before speaking, in a very mild tone. "So, you're the John Doe, right?"

Not sure what to make of this man, Al nodded. "Uhh, yeah. That's me."

The man smiled neutrally, handing the file to Heather and pulling out a notebook. "I'm Dr. Branch. I'm going to see if it's really worth keeping you here, all right, lad?"

Al nodded again, feeling slightly unsure. "Yeah, all right." He tugged at the straps slightly. "Can I be untied for this?"

"We'll see in a little bit," Dr. Branch mumbled absently, writing something down in his small notebook. "How are you feeling, son?"

Al frowned. "Fidgety. I don't like being tied down like this."

"It's for your own good, or so I'm told," the doctor replied absently, still writing. "How have you been feeling lately? With your injuries and all?"

The boy gnawed at his lips. "All right, I guess. It's just my arm that hurts anymore, and my head sometimes."

The pen wrote something in the notebook again. "Really." The young-looking doctor glanced up, giving Al a smile that didn't quite meet the sharp green eyes. "Mind telling me why you tried to run earlier?"

Al's eyes widened, and he dearly wished he could squirm away from the man. "I… I got scared. That bomb really frightened me."

"What were you afraid of, laddie?" Scratch, scratch went the pen. "The police had it under control."

Al swallowed. "I j-just was."

"There was no reason to be afraid, boy. Everything was under control, you wouldn't have been hurt."

_I wouldn't, but other people could have been_, Al thought, his nerves making his stomach clench. "I... I just was scared, all right? It… it reminded me of... things."

"Really." The only evidence that this surprised the man at all was the raising of an eyebrow, and a quick doodle in the book. "May I ask what sort of things?"

Al's thoughts flashed by quickly, as one particular incident involving a psychopath named Kimblee and a citywide transmutation circle was burned once again into his mind. He became very, very nervous, and he squirmed, looking at Ray and Heather for help.

"I need you to answer me, laddie," the doctor said, eyes narrowing at Al as though threatening him.

Al panicked, and started to shake his head violently. "No, no I can't, please just let me go, please," he said all at once, trying to bury his face into the pillow beneath him, halted by the straps that kept him in place.

Ray came forward, putting a large, calming hand on the boy's head, and Al could feel his own trembling against the heavy weight. "I think that's enough, sir," the large nurse said, leaning over to hush Al quietly.

The man grew thoughtful, chewing lightly on his pen, before making a final note. "Very well. I'll have my report to you by the end of the day, Nurse Breach," he replied. "And feel free to release the boy, Nurse Purdue," he continued, looking at his watch. "He is no threat to anyone but himself. Just be sure to keep him under watch for now."

Giving both nurses a curt nod before heading out the door, the doctor left, leaving Al a nervous wreck as Ray undid his restraints.

Heather glanced at her own watch, nodding at Ray. "I'll take over your other patients for now, Ray. You stay with Tiger, and I'll get things sorted out. Don't let anyone else in, okay?"

"Right-o, Nurse-lady," Ray murmured, and Al breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he sat up and rubbed at his arm where the restraints had chafed. "Well, Tiger," Ray continued as Heather left and locked the door, "I say we forget about that stuff and watch something mindless. You up for a Terminator marathon?"

Al blinked. "Terminator?"

Ray smirked, turning on the small TV in the room. "Trust me; I think you'll appreciate the irony."

Unsure after that little shake-up, Al shrugged, letting Ray numb his brain from trauma for a few hours.


	11. Ch 10 As Time Goes By

"**As Time Goes By"**

**Arc One; Chapter Ten**

**Balance of Power**

**May 8, 2006 – 1:23pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

"You can't be serious!"

Al stopped his forms at the sudden outburst, surprised at the vehemence behind the exclamation. _That sounded like Ms. Goodson_, he thought, creeping toward the door to listen in.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm quite serious. John isn't well enough mentally to be placed into foster care. I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave."

The shrillness of Ms. Goodson's voice increased, and Al had to stifle a snicker at the rising hysteria. "I demand to speak with the doctor that examined that boy! He is perfectly able to be removed from this hospital; in fact, he should be before he is allowed to backslide!"

Al sniggered quietly at the calmness in Heather's voice. "The doctor who examined him was Doctor Branch, a visiting specialist. Due to the events which occurred in the parking lot, he deduced that John has mentally blocked some other events which cause him to be unstable around those he does not trust. It was therefore decided that John be transferred to the psychiatric ward where he can be observed and treated by those he knows and trusts. A reevaluation will be conducted after a month's time." Al heard Heather's voice grow stern. "Until that time, I suggest you tend to your other cases, Ms. Goodson. This case has been suspended until further notice."

Al was surprised to hear the vehemence in Goodson's voice. "This isn't over yet, Breach. I know you're hiding something about that boy, and I intend to find out what it is, and get him into the care he needs. You just watch yourself, missy."

"Watch yourself, ma'am. I'm very tempted to report such a threat, Ms. Goodson, if you do not silence yourself. Now, please leave before I have you escorted from the hospital."

A snort followed that comment, along with the sharp pock-pock-pock of a woman's heeled shoes just before the door Al was listening at opened. "Ah, I see you heard that," Heather commented, giving Al a smile.

"It was hard not to," Al replied, grinning. "Can I ask why she seems to be dead-set on getting me out of this hospital?"

Heather smiled ruefully. "She sees you as a child who's been abused, and the hospital is supposedly hiding it. She wants you where she can watch you at all times, where she can decide if you're being treated right, I guess." She looked at Al's sweaty forehead, and chuckled. "You look like you're enjoying yourself, Tiger."

Al grinned widely. "Yeah. I've missed doing my forms." He pouted slightly afterwards. "Though I miss sparring with my brother."

Heather smiled and ruffled his hair. "Since Ray and I are the ones who're going to look after you, maybe you could convince the lug to spar with you. Get his apathetic ass in shape again."

Al snickered. "Maybe. So where are you taking me now?"

"Psych ward; Ray's got your room ready. Sorry it took a couple days; we didn't have a bed available until now. It won't be too bad though. You're with the B-Mod kids, and most of them are just depressed, so you may be able to help some of them cheer up." She offered her hand. "C'mon, I'm supposed to make it look like you're nervous of everyone else, so let's go. Maybe you'll get an award for this."

"Maybe." He took her hand and smiled. "Lead on, ma'am."

0o0o0

**May 9, 2006 – 8:15am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

The first night in the psych ward had been an interesting experience for Al. He had his own room again; and due to his supposed fear of other people, the only people who had come to check on him had been either Heather or Ray. Al honestly felt sorry for Heather; if he'd kept track of the hours, her last shift had lasted 36. He had to wonder how any doctor or nurse could handle the long hours, but Heather had just looked marginally tired when she'd woken him up early in the morning.

_Hopefully, she's getting the rest she needs today_, Al thought, sitting up and getting out of the hospital bed. He shook his head at the straps on the sides, discretely hidden on the underside of the bed, where they'd remain until they were needed. _No need to worry about that; I have no intention of making Ray use those on me. I like moving._

Al giggled to himself at the thought, and took a look at his left arm, turning it and examining the limb through the black sleeve he still wore over it. _The muscles are starting to atrophy_, he thought in annoyance, settling on the floor. _I should try to exercise it a bit_.

Al took the sleeve off, looking at the scars the road rash had left on it and the sickly-yellow bruises left from the broken blood vessels as he prodded the healing break with his right hand. _It's not healed enough yet for me to move it_. "Dammit," he said out loud, carefully putting the sleeve back on. "I wanted to do push-ups today."

"You really shouldn't push it, Tiger," said a voice from the door. "You could re-break that arm, and then where would you be?"

"Very annoyed at myself," Al replied, grinning. "Hey, Ray. You get any sleep last night? Yesterday was pretty stressful."

"I slept fine, once I knew you were okay and hidden in this part of the hospital." Ray grinned right back. "Get dressed, okay? I'm supposed to take you to breakfast."

"I have clothes?" Al responded, going over to the small set of drawers in the room.

"A few; mostly stuff donated to the hospital that's your size. Oh, and the pants you were wearing when you came in." As Al looked through the clothes, Ray snickered. "It's a good thing no one went through your pockets; they'd get suspicious of the marks in your back pocket."

"Apparently you went through my clothes," Al retorted, grinning as he pulled out a pair of boxers with some strange yellow-skinned character all over them, a pair of jeans, and a black shirt with "University of Iowa" emblazoned across it in yellow. "You gonna watch me change?"

"Heck no, boy. Why would I wanna stare at your skinny ass?" Ray smirked and slipped out the door. "Come on out once you're dressed."

"All right."

0o0o0

The cafeteria was about a quarter of the way full when Al got there, Ray leading him in and directing him to the line. Trying to make it seem like Ray was helping him get used to other people, Al let Ray go talk with one of the other nurses as he loaded a tray with some cereal and toast with jam. _If nothing else, I can't wait for Ed to find me so I can get some decent food_, he thought as he sat down with his meal. _Hospital food sucks_.

He sat down at a corner table, watching the other kids as they filtered in, eating his... cereal... the label had called them Cocoa Crispies anyway, and they were pretty good.

A small boy with bright red hair, freckles and thick glasses parked his wheelchair a few tables away and Al tried not to stare. He remembered how Ed was when still recovering from the loss of his limbs, getting wheeled around by an armored version of himself, and his brother feeling self-conscious about it. _I wonder why he has a wheelchair, though_, he thought to himself. He took a bite of the toast and grinned. _Mmmm, jam_.

"Hey, wheelchair boy!"

Al looked up at the name, surprised when three of the boys who had just finished their breakfasts came over to see the boy in the wheelchair, grinning maliciously. _This doesn't look good._

"Oooo, eating fruit this morning, wheelchair boy? Think it'll make it so your legs work again?" the tallest boy in the trio asked, his cronies sniggering at the question. "Good luck, gimp."

"I don't remember inviting you three to come sit with me," the boy in the wheelchair retorted. "And the name's Eugene."

Al continued to pretend to ignore the activity at the table as he watched from the corner of his eye, but he smiled into his juice and nearly choked. The boy sounded almost like Ed.

"Oh, we're _soooooo_ sorry, _Eugene_, " the second boy teased, making the name Eugene sound like an insult. "We forgot Mr. Rich Boy doesn't like being reminded he's a gimp."

"Actually, the term 'gimp' implies I can actually _walk_. Morons."

At this, Al really did choke; grateful for the coughing fit that masked his giggles. _Oh yeah, he sounds __**just**__ like Brother. _

The first boy who spoke leaned right into Eugene's face. "Oh, look who thinks he's so smart. What, did you swallow a fucking _dictionary_?"

_I think I've seen enough_, Al decided, standing up and walking over to the group. "Excuse me."

The boy practically breathing down Eugene's neck didn't move. "Get lost, loser," the third one said, giving Al a shove.

Al smirked, grabbing the boy by the wrist. "Wrong move."

Before the boy knew what was happening, he was flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Al grinned, putting his one good hand into a defensive stance, his left hand still secure in his sling. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to go back to your rooms? I'm sure the nurses wouldn't like you to cause a scene, would they?"

"Little late for that, Tiger."

Al blinked as Ray stood over him, glaring not at him but at the three bullies. "Hello Shawn. Blake. Randy."

The three boys glared at Ray, as though he'd offended them. "Stay the fuck out of this Purdue," the boy on the floor spat, getting up. "I'll beat that kid to a fucking pulp."

Al smirked. "I'd like to see you try."

"Knock it off, boys." Ray glared at them all, and Al winced lightly at the look on his nurse's face. "All of you, gym. _Now_."

The three other boys grumbled, and Eugene looked up at Ray. "Do I have to go, too? They were the ones being idiots."

Ray sighed, leveling a firm look at the boy. "Yeah, you too, 'Gene. C'mon, boys, let's get going."

Al sighed and followed the other four, smiling wryly at Ray. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Nah, I was going to come over and whap some sense into those boys anyway," Ray whispered as they walked out the cafeteria and down the hall. "Now you can, and both you and I can stay out of trouble. You're settling a dispute in a controlled environment, and I don't have to lay a hand on 'em." He laughed quietly. "You showed a little fang there. I didn't think you were the type."

Al blushed. "It's a habit I get from Ed, I think."

"Figured. Now look chastised."

Al tried to look suitably subdued as he walked, but he couldn't help it; the thought of actually sparring again made him grin. He'd been inactive for too long, and he was fidgety.

0o0o0

"All right now, boys. First one to fall and not get up in five seconds loses, got it?"

Al glared at his left arm, which was strapped to his side. "Can't I just keep my arm in the sling?"

"I don't want you swinging that thing around and using it as a weapon, Tiger. Besides," and here he looked at Randy. "I think you can take him, easily."

Randy glared. "Some gimp like _him_ won't beat me."

Al smirked. "Funny, I thought I had once already."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Now, now, Randy. Language." Ray stepped back. "Go ahead, boys."

Al smirked and stepped back, his one free arm up in a defensive stance. Randy had his fists up ready to punch, and lunged at him. It was an easy dodge and Al jumped, using Randy's chest as a springboard to finish the flip and knock him over at the same time. "Is that all you've got?" Al asked after he landed, arm back up.

"H-how the _fuck_ did you do that?!" The first boy, Shawn, asked in shock.

Al just shrugged one shoulder, keeping his eye on his target. "Don't know," he retorted, dodging another attack by Randy and ducking a punch, using his one good arm to steady himself as he kicked the other boy's legs out from under him. "Muscle-memory, it feels like." He waited for Randy to get up again, smirking. "Still want some of this?"

"Like hell! Muscle memory doesn't let you do shit like that!"

"Believe what you want," Al retorted, flipping over Randy again and smirking as he overbalanced and fell to the mat again.

"Actually, Shawn, muscle-memory lets people do what he's doing all the time." Eugene grinned as Randy got up once more. "Can't you see he isn't even thinking about his moves?"

Al smiled at Eugene, letting Randy grab him by the neck and using the boy's own momentum to throw him to the ground again. "I think we're done, Ray," he said, straightening up. "That's the fourth time he's gone down."

Ray smirked. "Yup. Sorry, Randy. Win goes to Tiger."

Randy glared at Al. "You'd better watch your back, punk. You'll be sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, big words." Ray glared at the boy. "You'd better not be making threats. You boys don't want me to have to come pin you down again, do you?" The three boys swallowed, and Ray smirked and made a shooing motion. "Thought not. Now get back to your rooms before I drag your butts back there."

Al watched as the three glared at him and ran off, Ray following to be sure they behaved. He laughed quietly, then started tugging at the bandage holding his arm down. "Sorry for butting in, Gene; I just didn't like what they were saying to you."

"Eh, I'm used to it." The boy shifted his wheelchair, and Al was surprised that it was controlled by a joystick. "I've been here awhile; they're just insecure about themselves." He smiled lightly. "Thanks for the help. See ya."

Al blinked. "That's abrupt," he complained, catching up with Eugene after putting his sling back on. "You don't even know my name."

"I'd assume it's Tiger; that's what Ray calls you."

Al blushed. "Actually, no. That's a nickname."

"Then what _is_ your name?"

Remembering the Bond marathon Ray had made him watch, Al smirked and puffed out his chest. "The name is Doe. _John_ Doe."

Eugene looked at him like he'd lost his mind. " _Please_ tell me you didn't just quote Bond to tell me your name is _John_ Doe."

"Ummm..."

Eugene waved a hand. "Never mind. Geekiness aside, you really don't have a name?"

"Not one that I remember, anyway." Al blushed again, rubbing at the back of his head with his good arm. "Ray thought John was boring."

Eugene smirked. "I think I'll stick with Tiger." He gave Al a long, calculating look, then sighed. "C'mon, I guess. Neither one of us have anything good to do, anyway; we can go hang in the computer area."

Al blinked. "Computer?"

"You really _don't_ remember anything, do you?"

"Not really." Grinning, Al rubbed at his hurt arm. "I really _was_ working on muscle memory."

"Lucky you're a black belt or whatever." Eugene looked up, giving Al the first real smile he'd seen on the boy's face. "C'mon, I'll teach you the basics."

0o0o0

"What the hell is this thing?"

Eugene chuckled, positioned next to Al in the very small computer lab of the psych department. "It's a computer, dummy."

Al studied the screen, watching as it moved in the same way the TeeVee did, the words 'Windows XP' inscribed on it and a colored bar moving around. "What's it doing right now?"

"Booting up. I figured I could show you the joys of the Internet; at least, as much as they allow us to have here." The small, wheelchair-bound boy grinned. "I can set up an e-mail account for you, too, since you probably don't remember if you have one."

Al shrugged. "Does everyone use these a lot?" he asked, moving the small contraption next to the keyboard that Eugene called a mouse. _Not very mouselike, I don't think_, he thought as he watched the small arrow move around on the screen.

"Some more than others, but they're everywhere, so you're at a disadvantage if you don't at least know the basics." Eugene smirked, pointing at the screen of the computer he was situated in front of. "I'm considered something of a computer genius, though."

Al snickered at the slight bit of ego. _Yup, he is so like Brother_, he thought, then blinked as the screen changed to read 'Welcome to Windows' and some pictures popped up. "Now what do I do?"

"Click the picture next to the word 'Patient'; that's the general User ID for us stuck in B-Mod. It tells the computer administrators who's on, and what we're doing."

"They can track what we do?" Al clicked the small picture, and watched as it continued to 'boot up'.

"Yeah, but I can make it so they don't know what we're doing." Eugene smirked. "No worries, John. You've got 'Gene the Genius on your side now."

"You don't have any ego at all, do you?" Al teased.

"Nope! Not a bit."

Al smiled as he heard a small bit of music from the speakers as the computer flashed to a picture of some stone monument and smaller pictures started dotting the left side of it. Al blinked in utter shock. "I think I recognize that place," he said casually, to test his knowledge. "It's in Caledonia, right?"

Eugene jerked and just stared at Al for several moments. Al gulped. "What'd I say?"

"You're right... sort of." Eugene pointed at the screen. "That's Stonehenge. How the hell do you know Scotland's original name, though?"

_Oh, shit_. "Ummmm... I uh, err..."

Eugene gave him a wary look, sighed, and waved a hand. "Never mind. So, what do you want to do first on this thing?"

Al gave a sigh of relief that Eugene dropped his questioning, and shrugged. "What can I do on these things? All I know so far is you point at things and click on them."

"Well, let's stick with that for a moment, then." Eugene dragged himself forward, and pointed a thin finger at an icon that looked like a flame surrounding a world. "Click that."

Al did as he was told. _That icon kind of reminds me of Colonel Mustang_. "So what's this?"

"It's a program called Firefox; it's a decent enough Internet browser, for our purposes."

"And what is the Internet?"

"The Internet is an interconnected system of networks that connects computers around the world via the TCP/IP protocol." Losing the lecturing tone, Eugene smiled. "In other words, it lets you see information and talk to people from all over the world."

Al blinked. "Like a giant library, huh?" he asked. Looking at the window that had popped up, he blinked at the simplicity of the site. "Google? What's this place?"

"It's a search engine. Click on the little box, type something you want to learn about in the little box, then click 'Google Search.'"

Al thought for a few moments. _I wonder what I'll find_. Extending his right hand over the keys, he painstakingly typed 'alchemy' in the box one-handed, then clicked the button.

His eyes widened at the number of results he got from that simple search. "23 million results?? There's that much information?!?"

"That's a pretty broad topic, you might try narrowing it down." Eugene adjusted his glasses and peered at the screen. "Why alchemy, though?"

Al shrugged, distracted. "Seemed like a decent topic. How do I search again?"

"Type the new search into the box above the results."

Finding the search box again, Al clicked ahead of the word 'alchemy', and added the word 'biological' in front of it, before clicking 'search' again. "Fewer results this time," he murmured, deciding to click on the first underlined thing. It said 'Science & Technology at Scientific and intrigued Al.

What he found was an article on how skin and bone marrow cells could transform into neurons, and Al's eyes widened. "Interesting..."

Eugene giggled at the intent look on Al's face. "Go on and read; I'll help you set up an e-mail account when I finish checking my own."

Al didn't hear his comment, too absorbed in the short article. He pouted when he reached the end; apparently, he had to subscribe to the site before he could read the whole thing. "Do I have to subscribe for everything if I want to read things?" he asked, pointing at the button.

Eugene looked over. "Nah, just stuff like that. It costs money, though; too bad." He grinned. "Shall I leave you alone with your research?"

"If I can't get the information, no real point to it." He shrugged. "Now, what's this e-mail you keep talking about?"

Eugene smirked. "Allow me to show you..."

After a bit of wrestling with the site, Al was soon set up with an e-mail address all his own; He frowned as he got to his inbox, and noticed two e-mails already. "I already have mail?"

"It's automated mail; just to say that hey, it works." Eugene nudged Al over, and added his own e-mail. "And there's my e-mail, so you can e-mail me now!"

"But we're both right here," Al commented, blinking.

"We can keep in touch this way, though. When you get out of here."

"Boys," called Ray from the door. "Computer time is up; log off, okay?"

Al frowned, signing out of the mail program and closing the window. "What about you? Why are you here?"

Eugene rolled his eyes, shutting down his machine. "My parents. They think I'm going to kill people because I'm stuck in a wheelchair and horribly misanthropic."

Al made a face, and copied Eugene's clicks to shut his own computer down. "That makes no sense."

"Yeah, well, my parents aren't the brightest lightbulbs in the world."

He snickered. "I guess not. Shall we go to lunch now?"

"Sounds good to me; showing a noob around the Intarweb makes me hungry."

Al felt terribly lost again. "Huh?"

Eugene grinned. "I'll explain some other time. C'mon; let's go."

0o0o0

**May 10, 2006 – 4:45pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Hughes shifted the heavy bag of groceries over to one arm and rapped twice on Reilly's door before he remembered he didn't need to knock. _Two and a half weeks_, he thought, _and I still can't bring myself to just walk in_. With a grin, he turned the knob and opened the door…

…to be greeted by a dagger at his throat.

Hughes smirked and peeked around the back of the door. "Hello, Ed."

The younger man glared and returned his arm back to normal. "You know no one knocks at Reilly's."

Hughes came the rest of the way in and hip-checked the door closed behind him. "Old habits die hard, I guess." He scowled and added, "What do you do? Spend all day hanging around the door waiting for someone to skewer?"

Ed gave him a dirty look; then he peeked curiously over the top of the paper sack and sniffed. "Smells good. But why are you bringing food here?"

Hughes grinned, slipped past Ed, and headed for the kitchen. "For the past two weeks, she's fed me nearly every night." He paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "Mind you, I don't eat nearly as much as you do, but I thought it would be nice to pay for dinner for once." He jerked his head toward the door. "There's another bag in the back seat, would you grab it for me?"

"You planning to feed an army?"

"You're eating, right?"

Ed gave him a mildly annoyed look and went outside.

"Get the gym bag while you're at it," Hughes called.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Ed called back as he jogged to the car.

In the kitchen, Hughes started taking food out of the sack and laying it out on the counter. The fresh vegetables could sit for the time being, but he needed to marinate the steaks. He started looking through the cabinets for a bowl with a lid and after the third try, he found what he was looking for.

About that time, Ed returned with the other bag and started to unpack it.

"I thought today was Reilly's day off," Hughes asked as he mixed up the marinade.

"She decided to work a couple hours to cover for someone else today," Ed said. "She'll be back around—"

Hughes was shoving the marinating steaks in the refrigerator when he heard Ed hesitate. His curiosity got the better of him and he glanced around the open door in time to see Ed pull out two clear bags full of red and blue balls. The younger man turned with a bag in each hand and held them up with a most befuddled look. "Uh, Hughes? What exactly _are_ we having for dinner tonight?"

Hughes grinned. "Hand me the gym bag."

0o0o0

Out by the low garden wall, Ed watched curiously as Hughes knelt down and pulled a vaguely gun-like object from the bag. "Care to fill me in, here?" Ed asked.

Hughes just glanced up and gave him a wicked grin, then turned back to the bag. He screwed a cylinder with a label of "CO2" onto the bottom, then attached a curved hopper of some sort on the top. He handed Ed the gun, but didn't answer the question.

He nodded at the bags of colored balls sitting at Ed's feet and said, "Pick your color."

"Red… I guess. Are you going to keep me in the dark forever?"

Hughes finished putting the other gun together, set it aside, and pulled out a mask and gloves. He handed them to Ed and said, "Put those on."

Ed looked at them suspiciously, but did as he was told.

It was only after both of them were geared-up and had the colored balls loaded in the hoppers that Hughes decided to fill Ed in. "The game is called paintball," he said as he took a few steps away from him. His voice sounded hollow behind the mask, which only served to add to the strangeness of the situation.

Ed stared down at the gun in his hand. "Okay. And?"

He couldn't see the grin behind the full face mask, but he could hear it and it worried him. "You shoot at each other."

Before Ed could respond to that, he felt a hit in the middle of his chest. Shocked, he stared down at the spot and saw a large blue splotch covering the middle of Icarus's back. "Hey! That's my favorite shirt!"

"It washes out," Hughes said as he dashed off and ducked behind a nearby bush.

"What the—" Ed blurted, still stunned. "Come back here, damnit!"

Hughes poked his head up from behind the cover of the bush and Ed caught the glint of light on metal. _Ohshit_, he thought and vaulted over the garden wall just in time to avoid another hit.

"That was a cheap shot, asshole!" Ed yelled as he hunkered down and slammed his back against the wall.

The only response he got from Hughes was an almost maniacal laugh. It was contagious, too; and while Ed didn't exactly laugh, a huge grin nearly split his face in two.

He suddenly understood just what Hughes was up to. Ed had been more than just a little twitchy and irritable of late because of the forced inactivity. He needed the adrenaline rush and the release of pent-up frustrations; and his morning routine of practicing his forms just wasn't doing it.

Hughes had spent years in the Intelligence Division of the State; and for nearly a year after he was declared dead he'd spent his time skulking in the shadows. The man was a consummate sneak; quick, stealthy, and deadly with throwing knives. Ed wasn't sure just how good the man would be with a gun at a distance, but he had a feeling that there was going to be more than just a little bit of a challenge. _Good_.

0o0o0

There were supposed to be 1000 balls of paint for each of them, and the hoppers held approximately 200 rounds. Ed had reloaded twice already, which meant 600 rounds. He estimated Hughes had only reloaded once.

Hughes _should_ have been nearly covered in bright red paint. Ed looked down at himself and sighed. _At least as covered as I am_, he thought. But he wasn't. In fact, Hughes barely had a mark on him, which only served to slam home the fact that Ed couldn't shoot his way out of a wet paper bag. It didn't help matters that Ed couldn't sneak up on a deaf man, either.

He cautiously peeked around the corner of the shed, peering with one eye in the direction of Hughes's last known position. He thought he caught movement behind the bush and grinned. _Maybe I'll finally catch him off-guard._

Ever since the game had started, Ed had been more and more in tune to the subtler sounds around him. It was self-preservation, after all. Hughes was one sneaky bastard, and the man seemed to take great joy in ambushing Ed. So when he started to creep out of hiding to take what he thought was Hughes hiding behind the bush and heard a barely-there sound, he knew he was done for. But he wasn't going out without a fight, damnit.

Ed spun, gun at the ready, finger on the trigger; and was hit square in the chest. Again. He'd overbalanced when he reacted, firing wild, and fell back on his ass. Not a single shot hitting his opponent.

"Damnit! Why can't I hit you?" Ed yelled as the other man disappeared around the shed.

"Because your aim sucks, noob!"

Ed blinked. _He really has been here too long_, he thought with a laugh.

0o0o0

_Holy shit! He doesn't know I'm behind him_, Ed thought with wicked glee. He'd managed to get about ten feet away from Hughes and the man still had his back to him, peeking around the corner of the garden wall. _Close enough_, Ed thought as he brought the gun up and took careful aim.

Just as he started to squeeze the trigger, Hughes spun and fired. "Too slow!" he taunted as a round hit Ed right in his weapon arm and throwing his shot wild.

Before the words lost their echo, he was gone again.

"Dammit!"

0o0o0

Ed was nearly out of ammo and Hughes still barely had a hit on him. He had one last chance and he was going to make it count. If the man was going to play sneaky, then it was high time Ed did, too. One thing Ed had going for him, when he wasn't getting his ass kicked in paintball that is, was an almost feline grace and the ability to climb nearly anything. So he shimmied up the tall bole of the Catalpa, hid himself amidst the huge leaves… and waited.

He didn't have to wait long, either. Hughes came creeping into the garden in a low crouch, weapon at the ready. Ed had to grin. The man was watching and aiming for any hiding place Ed might fit behind… on the ground. He wasn't looking up.

Ed took careful aim and waited. He had all the time in the world and the advantage for once. He wasn't about to waste it.

When Hughes was within a range Ed knew he couldn't possibly miss, he gently squeezed the trigger. Victory may not have been within his grasp, but he'd at least get in a few good hits.

He couldn't help it. The low, wicked chuckle escaped unbidden… and Hughes looked up.

"Eat paint, asshole," Ed said as he fired.

He saw the man's sharp green eyes widen just before he dodged-ducked-weaved away from the volley of ammo coming at him with relentless speed.

_How the hell does he do that?!_ Ed wondered as he wrapped his legs around the tree branch and flipped upside down to get a better shot through the dinner-plate leaves. He definitely heard the sound of paintballs hitting flesh. He knew he heard it.

He also knew he was empty now, as well. "I'm out!" he called, and Hughes lowered his gun.

By the time Ed dropped from the tree and regained his feet, the other man had joined him. He'd pulled the mask off and wore a wolfish grin; but it wasn't nearly as huge as Ed's.

"I got you, dammit! I finally got you good!" Ed crowed.

Hughes cocked a brow, and looked down at himself. A careful search only revealed one new red spot. He pulled out the bottom of his shirt to give it a closer inspection, then looked back at Ed. "Maybe we need to take you to a firing range."

Ed just gave him a growl without any real heat in it and flopped down in the shade of the garden wall. When he pulled off his mask, he revealed his grin, wide and fierce. For the first time in ages he'd had fun for the sheer joy of just having fun. There was no agenda, no mission, no urgency.

Hughes fell down on the ground next to him and laughed at look on Ed's face. "Have fun?"

Ed stretched and rolled his shoulders with a wince. "I'm gunna feel this in the morning, I'm sure. But it was worth it."

He fished around the gym bag and found a bottle of water; half of which he dumped over his head, the other half down his throat. It was flat and tepid. Ed figured it had been in the bag for awhile, but it didn't matter; it tasted wonderful at that moment and he was too wiped to trudge back into the house right then.

Hughes sat back against the wall, resting his arms on his knees and stared up into the dappled light of the Catalpa. "What are the odds," he said, "of the three of us ending up in this world… this _time_ together?"

Ed's eyes went wide at that. "That's out of the blue."

Hughes smiled and chuckled soft. "Variation on a theme, actually. I've asked that same question nearly every day since I fell into this world. Why here? Why now?"

Ed rested his head against the cool stone of the wall and thought about it. "I don't think I even want to try and calculate the odds. But I don't think it was random."

Hughes gave him a startled sideways glance. "You saying you actually believe in a higher power there?"

Ed snorted. "Hardly. Where did you say you'd come out at?"

"West of here. On some farmer's land outside of Ponca City." He shrugged. "I have no idea where Bond came out at."

"Bond?"

"The Stealthworks Alchemist. Ironically, he was an assassin for Hakuro." Hughes reached into the bag and pulled out another bottle of water. "His 'specialty' was creating tiny clockwork machines that could move about unnoticed. About the size of a cockroach, actually." He took several long gulps of the water, then stared ahead as he remembered. "He combined that with a knowledge of poisons and explosives and used them to kill people who got in Hakuro's way."

Hughes sat silent for a long moment and Ed didn't prompt. He knew he would tell him the rest of it in time. He could tell from the play of emotions on the man's face that the memories were painful.

"When we came through the gate," Hughes said finally, "I had caught up to him, and was attempting to stop a plan to set several of those bugs into the battalion stationed in the north. Fuery, Havoc, Armstrong. All of them were there, fighting some bullshit war. Roy was there, too." Hughes looked down at the ground. "I don't… I don't know if I stopped it in time."

_Of course_, Ed thought with a jolt. _He doesn't know_. He laid a hand on the other man's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. When Hughes looked up, Ed smiled. "They're alive."

A slow, relieved smile spread across the older man's face, and he leaned back. "Good."

Ed snickered, which caused Hughes to give him a curious sideways glance. "Mustang wasn't even in the north. He was at the Fuehrer's mansion."

Ed started laughing harder. He couldn't help it. The irony was just too rich.

"Care to share the joke?"

Ed wiped at his eyes and got himself under some measure of control. "Yeah. He was avenging your death."

"Aven-- Oh, shit. What did that idiot hot-head do?"

Ed hesitated. _How do you tell a man who had spent years pushing his best friend up the ladder that said friend threw it all away in an assassination?_

"The Fuehrer was a homunculus, Hughes," he said, finally. He knew it was going to be a shocker, but at least it would soften the blow to come.

Hughes stared.

After a long moment, he stammered, "It went all the way to the top? I thought it stopped at the Fuehrer's secretary." He fell back against the wall again, still stunned. "That explains so much. I thought Hakuro was assassinating his way to the top. But… He was aiding and abetting. He must have known." He covered his eyes with a hand. "And Roy… he threw it all away, didn't he?"

Ed chuckled. "Busted down to Corporal, according to what Al told me. The new government wasn't going to execute him because he was a hero, but they couldn't promote him because of the way he staged the coup."

Hughes laughed and shook his head. "Remind me to deck him when—" He stopped, pain dimming the sharp green eyes, then looked away.

There was a long, awkward silence between the two of them, then. Ed knew what the man was feeling. He'd felt it himself for two years; when he'd come through the gate without Al. He was waiting and drifting. Not living, not allowing himself to really be a part of this world he was trapped in.

He felt his throat grow tight as he absently plucked at the grass between his feet. "Maes…" he started, but words escaped him.

Hughes let out a shuddering sigh and dropped his head. "I know, Ed." He took a deep, steadying breath, but Ed could still hear the heartbreak in the sound. He knew it would never completely go away either. "We can't go back. I tell myself that every morning. It doesn't help."

Ed stared across the garden, at nothing but the images in his own head. "The first two years I was on the other side of the gate, I didn't interact with this world. I wasn't a part of it, I thought. I thought it was my own personal Hell for all the sins I'd committed. For killing Al. Or that it was just a dream I couldn't wake up from."

He faced Hughes finally. "But that's wrong. We're all a part of whatever world we're in. We don't have a choice but to interact with it." He gripped Hughes's shoulder again, and the man looked up. Ed smiled sadly. "I know how hard it is for you. Everyone… Your friends, your family… They're all unreachable now. It…" Ed hesitated, swallowing. "It would be easier if they had died."

Hughes's eyes went wide and his brows shot up. Then a slow, sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips and he shook his head. "I do have family here. Now. At least I always thought of you and Al as sons."

Ed blinked in surprise, then he grinned. "Same here, Hughes."

Next thing Ed knew, he was caught in a powerful and affectionate headlock, with his nose stuck in the man's sweaty armpit. "Augh! Okay! Okay! Let go!" When he was finally able to extricate himself, he grimaced and brought his hand up to his nose. "Man! You need a shower!"

Hughes just laughed softly.

Then both of them forgot all about the warm fuzzy moment when they heard the sound of someone pulling into the drive, playing heavy metal at full volume. Both men looked at each other and grinned wickedly. There was only one possibility.

"Ducky," Ed said.

Hughes held up his paintball gun and said, "I still have balls."

Ed laughed, low and evil. "Let's do it."

Hughes loaded both hoppers with the remaining blue balls, as they heard Ducky bang the front door shut and call out, "Hey! Anyone home?"

A moment later, they were hunkered down behind the garden wall and heard the back screen door slam. A look passed between the two men as they listened for the sound of Ducky coming around the corner of the house and into range. With a nod from Hughes they came up at the same time and fired…

…Hitting Reilly with a dozen blue balls of paint.

She screamed in surprise and covered her face with her arms. It was only then that Ed and Hughes realized who they'd hit.

"Oh, fuck," Ed whispered, his eyes gone wide in abject terror.

As soon as Reilly realized she wasn't dying, she brought her arms down and glared. Hughes gave her a sheepish grin and said, "Uh… oops?"

She was still dressed for work, with a white tank top under a light blue chambray shirt and a long blue cotton skirt. Now she was covered in splotches of blue paint, and Ed was certain he could see those splotches boiling.

Without a word, she spun on her heel and went back in the house.

Hughes and Ed slid back down behind the wall and looked at each other. "We're dead meat," Ed said.

The sound of Ducky's insane cackle reached them and Ed winced. "That's not helping matters."

Hughes held out a hand to Ed and said, "Well, it was nice while it lasted."

Ed glanced down, took the offered hand, and shook it. "I'll see you on the other side, Hughes."

They gave it a couple of minutes and then Hughes said, "Well, let's go face the music and grovel for our lives. If we're lucky, she'll only kill us a little bit."

"Or at least quickly."

They packed all the equipment back up, then headed out through the gate. As they came around the back of the house, they stopped short at the sight of Reilly waiting for them with a neutral expression and her hands behind her back. The chambray shirt was gone and the skirt had been traded for a pair of faded fatigues. She was also wearing a bright red bandana tied around her head and was barefoot. Something was strapped to her back, Ed noticed; and from the way the shoulder straps cut into her skin, it looked heavy. _Uh-oh_.

Hughes and Ed gave each other a questioning look, then Hughes came forward. "Reilly, I really am sorry about tha—" He hesitated when her look went cagy and she whipped around with a gargantuan, brightly colored gun. More like a cannon, in Ed's opinion.

"Say hello to my little friend, Hughes," she said as she pressed the butt of it against her shoulder and squinted one eye to peer through the sight. Then her grin became predatory.

Hughes dropped the gym bag and raised his hands in surrender. Taking the other man's cue, Ed followed suit. He just hoped Reilly didn't really shoot them.

Neither one of them had a chance. She started firing before they could duck out of the way and her aim was deadly. Both of them were soaked with icy water in short order.

They remained still while Reilly soaked them both. It only seemed right, once Ed knew they weren't about to die. _What'd she do, load it with ice, too?_ he wondered with a shiver.

After a moment, she lowered the cannon and gave them a petulant look. "You two are no damn fun!" she said as she stamped her foot.

Ed caught sight of Ducky creeping out the door and silently unlooping the hose. The hacker grinned wickedly and laid a finger on his lips when he noticed he was being watched.

"Ah, well," Hughes said with a laugh. "We thought if we just stood here and took our punishment, you might let us live."

It was all Ed could do to keep his expression properly chastised when he saw Ducky twist the faucet up full blast; but when the hacker brought the gun-shaped sprayer to bear on Reilly, his eyes went wide.

He cast a nervous, side-ways glance at Hughes and saw by the man's expression that he was well aware of the impending attack from behind. As though it had been planned in advance, both men dove for cover in opposite directions.

Reilly's startled and offended screams could be heard through half the county.

When Ed heard what sounded like a struggle, he peeked out of his hiding place behind the shed to see Reilly wrestling Ducky for the hose; and both of them were getting soaked in the process. He also noticed that the woman had somehow shed the tank from her back and discarded the cannon. She didn't look upset; not with that determined grin and the delighted sparkle in her eyes. With a sigh of relief, he cautiously came out of hiding. Besides, if Ducky was getting the worst end of the confrontation, Ed wanted a better vantage point to witness the momentous occasion.

He glanced over where Hughes stood with his back against the house. At the man's questioning look, Ed shrugged and grinned. He knew Hughes couldn't see a thing from there. That was a blind spot that Ed had become painfully aware of earlier.

The spot Reilly and Ducky were wrestling in was rapidly becoming a sloppy, slimy mud-puddle; and in the blink of an eye, she managed to wrench the hose free of Ducky's grasp, slipped, and fell in the puddle with a resounding splat. It didn't slow her revenge any, as she turned the hose on Ducky before he had a chance to find cover.

Ed laughed. Hard.

He also realized too late that was a big mistake, because Reilly instantly turned the hose on him, soaking him to the bone before he could move. "Gah! Shit!" he sputtered as he dove into the same hiding place Hughes was in.

The older man laughed and shoved Ed back out. "No way, Ed! I don't want caught in the crossfire."

Ed stumbled, fell, and gave Hughes a look of utter betrayal. "You traitor!"

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and then turned his attention back to Hughes. Except now he was grinning. He knew Hughes couldn't see a damn thing.

It took a moment, then the grin on the older man's face disappeared as though someone had wiped it away and he turned.

Reilly was leaning around the hiding spot with a seductive smile on her face. Hughes's eyes went wide as she brought the hose up and squeezed the trigger. "Dodge this," she said, hitting him dead center of his chest; drenching the man clean through before he could scramble to make an escape.

Trapped with his back against the house and one side against the garden wall, Hughes chose to fight for control of the hose. Size and experience ended the altercation quickly, as he not only deftly relieved her of the sprayer, but flipped her around, twisting her up in the hose and pinning her against him with one arm. With a look of mischievous glee, he brought his arm up high, and aimed the sprayer straight down, soaking the top of Reilly's head.

"Well you look like you're all having fun here," Tom said as he carefully tip-toed around the muck.

Ed saw something wicked flash across Reilly's face as she turned, snatched the hose from Hughes's startled grasp and aim it at Tom.

Tom cocked a calm brow and reached behind him. "I think you got another idea that beats that one all to Hell, Reilly," he said as he pulled out his gun and pointed it at her.

Reilly dropped the hose and raised her arms in surrender; but her huge grin remained.

Tom spun the gun like he was in the old west and shoved it back in the holster on the back of his belt. "Now, if y'all are quite finished; I was invited for dinner and I'm getting hungry. You wouldn't like me when I'm hungry."

Reilly laughed and went to give Ed a hand up. He just gulped and stared when she bent over. He was starting to get a little chilled a moment ago, now he was warming up rapidly.

The white tank top she wore might have been opaque when it was dry, but it was nearly non-existent when wet. He was suddenly learning things about his benefactor he really didn't need to know. A thought flashed, completely unbidden; the echoes of which would rattle around in his brain for some time to come. _Good grief, how does something that small hold up anything that… big? _

Hughes came out of hiding just as Ed was being pulled to his feet. He shook the water from his hair and nearly stumbled blindly into Reilly as he did so. He recovered quickly though and gave her a sheepish grin. Ed watched as the next instant, Hughes's eyes slammed downward and went wide. The sheepish grin quickly turned unmistakably lascivious and spread unabashedly across the man's face.

Ed cleared his throat noisily and managed to get the other man's attention. "First dibs on the shower," he said and dashed off.

Hughes blinked. "What? No! Wait, I'm calling it, dammit," he yelled as he ran after Ed.

"You have to beat me, then."

0o0o0

Reilly watched as Hughes and Ed raced to the house. She silently mused at the way the older man looked soaking wet with a hell-bent for leather grin and realized with a shock that she was thinking of a lot more than just that.

"You're blushing," Tom said, yanking her rudely out of her thoughts.

Reilly blinked, focused, and felt herself grow even warmer. "What? No, it's just hot today, is all."

Tom snorted. "You're covered in gooseflesh and your lips are starting to turn blue." He glanced down then right back up with a smirk. "We won't go into the other symptoms of being chilled to the bone."

Reilly crossed her arms in an effort to cover her ample chest. Tom only shook his head and started for the house. "Don't bother. The men who would actually be affected by that have already gotten an eyeful." He glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "Ed's probably going to be traumatized for life now."

Reilly didn't move from her spot. Instead she groaned and covered her face with a hand. She silently cursed her genetics, attractive men in general, Hughes in particular, and the fact that Tom could read her like a book. Not for the first time in her long association with the older man, she questioned the wisdom of allowing anyone to get to know her quite so well. _Maybe it's time to make a few changes_, she thought with a snicker. She knew she wouldn't. It just wasn't in her to dump a friend when things became 'inconvenient'. Besides, she knew Tom would never let that happen.

She heard Ed's offended bellow over Ducky's insane cackle. "I'M NOT A TOY-BOY, DAMNIT!"

She giggled and headed for the house. Well, some things can go on as usual, she thought. She was starting to get used to Ed's temper and Ducky's compulsion to push the blonde's buttons. It had a bizarre sense of rightness about it all.

Just as she reached to the screen door, she heard Hughes's muffled voice from deeper in the house; and immediately after, Ed's offended squeak. "You're a damned pervert, Hughes!"

Reilly immediately let go of the handle, turned, and flopped down on the steps. _Maybe I can just stay out here until I dry off_, she thought. As warm as she felt, she didn't think it would take too long, anyway.


	12. Ch 11 Will Wonders Never Cease

"**Will Wonders Never Cease?"**

**Arc One; Chapter Eleven**

**Balance of Power**

**May 10, 2006 – 11:47 pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

"I'll take two," Reilly said.

Ducky sighed. "Three. Again."

"I'm good," Ed said.

Hughes dealt the cards out. "And the dealer takes two."

Everyone studied their hands intently and in silence. Hughes cast a casual glance at each of the players. Reilly was good, he noticed. She never showed anything in her face; and while she wasn't exactly winning, she wasn't losing, either. She was keeping about even with him, as far as the pile of chips in front of her showed.

Ducky, on the other hand, was a lousy poker player. Every hand showed in his face, no matter how hard he tried to keep it neutral. Such as now. Hughes knew he had a good hand, even though the boy was losing his ass.

The big winner seemed to be Ed tonight. His stack of chips just seemed to keep growing. Hughes knew why. He also had a feeling Reilly did, too. He just wondered if Ducky was going to catch on eventually.

Dinner had gone off with only one complaint from Ed. "It's… green," he said when he saw the guacamole. Apparently that didn't phase him as much as he let on, because he put most of it away by himself. The group was now quite a bit more mellow in comparison to earlier. Not that it was saying much. Reilly's place always seemed to be crackling with energy, even on the easiest days. Hughes wondered just how much of it was natural, and how much of it was the friction between Ed and Ducky, or Reilly and Ducky… or Reilly and Ed. The only one around here who never seemed to bristle for any reason, was Tom. Nothing seemed to rattle the man, nor did anything ever seem to piss him off. Of course he was a tad cranky right now, because his leads didn't seem to be panning out beyond the first one. Hughes heard him mutter from the living room for about the thousandth time that night.

Reilly glanced up and he saw her scan the group. He caught her glance his way, and noticed her face was still flushed. _I really should apologize_ he thought. He honestly didn't deliberately leer down at her chest earlier, but it was damned hard to avoid. It was so obviously _there_. He hadn't thought she'd caught him out, though. At least he hoped she hadn't; but that could be the only explanation he could come up with why she seemed so nervous and embarrassed whenever their eyes met. _Well_, he corrected himself, _there is another reason_. That reason would be the same one that made him feel a little warm whenever their eyes met. Except he knew she wouldn't be having the same battle of conscience he was.

_It's been four years, Hughes Old Man._

_You're married, dammit._

_Not in this world, you aren't. _

Reilly laid her cards face down on the table and said, "I fold." Hughes followed suit with a soft sigh. He had no idea what he actually had in his hand. He was too busy arguing with himself to concentrate on the game.

It was just between Ducky and Ed now. And he knew Ducky wouldn't fold. Not with the way his eyes were lighting up.

It was Ed's turn and he placed a modest bet. Then Ducky grinned and shoved his remaining chips into the center. "I call." He threw down his cards with a huge grin. "Read'em and weep, Terminator-boy! I got you on a straight."

"Nice hand," Ed said, but his smile was showing a bit of fang. He slowly laid his hand down. "But I have a Royal Flush."

Reilly suddenly had a coughing fit and got up from the table. Hughes saw the impending explosion himself and cautiously scooted his seat back from the line of fire.

As Ed reached for the stack of chips in the center of the table, Ducky grabbed his wrist and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "That's like the third Royal Flush you've gotten tonight."

Ed smirked and shrugged. "I guess I was just lucky."

"No one is ever that lucky."

A staring contest started between the two of them, and Hughes wondered who'd blink first.

"Are you accusing me of cheating?" Ed asked.

Reilly's coughing fit suddenly became more violent and Hughes worried she was about to hack up a lung. He was also worried about the possible fall-out and moved his seat back further.

Ed jerked his wrist free of Ducky's grip and looked highly offended. Unfortunately the look was unconvincing in light of the cards that fell out of his sleeve. Ducky stared down at the cards in shock for a moment, then picked one up. An ace. He held it up to show Ed and said, "You tell me."

Ed gave him a slightly cock-eyed grin, then launched himself out of his seat and bolted out the back door. Ducky stared after him in stunned silence, then he blinked and vaulted over the table, scattering chips, cards and drinks all over the place. "Get your ass back here! I'm gunna rewire your limbs and short-circuit your brain, dammit!"

Hughes joined Reilly at the door, and watched Ducky chase after Ed into the darkness; cursing him the entire time. Without thinking about it, he'd just laid a hand on the frame right over her shoulder, and he was suddenly very aware of the closeness. He glanced down, caught her giving him a knowing look, and felt his face get very warm. He jerked his hand back as if the doorframe was suddenly on fire and started to stammer an apology, but her smirk stopped him. That, and the way some of her unruly curls fell into her eyes, and… _Dammit, why the hell did she suddenly look so cute?_

She gave him a graceful exit by moving away from the door, and said, "You know, if Ducky catches him, he'll do exactly as he threatened."

"If Ed doesn't transmute him into slime mold first?"

She chuckled and leaned back against the counter. "Well, there is that."

Hughes found himself leaning against the counter right next to her. He hadn't even thought about it, but his body moved all on its own. Somehow, it felt just fine to him. He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. He realized that there were a lot of things that were starting to feel 'right' lately.

"What?" Reilly asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Hmmm?"

"You're staring off into space with a smile. What's on your mind?"

"Normalcy."

Reilly snorted. "Normal is overrated."

Hughes had to give her that. "Well, as normal as one can get with Ed running around."

"And Ducky."

Hughes thought a moment, then shook his head. "Come to think of it, I don't think I have any clue what normal is."

They both glanced over at the door, as they heard Ed run by taunting Ducky, and the hacker responding in kind. There was a flash of blue light, and a startled noise from Ducky, but it didn't sound like anyone was giving up outside.

"Gee, I wonder why that is?" Reilly said.

Hughes jerked his thumb toward the door. "That? Mild. Try having a best friend who can turn you into a human torch with just a snap of his fingers." At the thought of Roy, Hughes felt his heart ache and his good mood started to slip away.

He crossed his arms and just stared down at the floor for a bit. Then he felt a warm hand on his arm. He looked up to see Reilly much closer and giving him a look of such compassion and understanding it seemed to make him hurt all the more.

"You miss them."

He nodded, unable to find his voice at that moment. He felt her slip an arm around his waist and then she rested her head on his shoulder. He didn't try to pull away. He didn't want to. Four years he'd been just surviving… waiting. For what, he didn't know. He could never go back. There wasn't a way for him to go back. But he had Ed here, and Al was out there, somewhere. And Reilly was right here, and she was warm, and cute, and it felt so natural to just bring his arm up and wrap it around her shoulder, and pull her into an embrace…

…and his lips met hers before he knew it.

He wasn't sure who kissed whom first, but after what seemed an eternity of conflicting feelings surging through him, he was the one to break the embrace. They gazed into each others eyes in stunned silence for a long moment. He saw something in hers flash. A little too much awareness, a touch of hurt, and a decision.

She asked, "Did… you just feel anything?"

He gave her an apologetic look and shook his head. She was giving him an out, and damn him, he took it. He immediately wanted to take it all back, tell her he changed his mind. After four long years, he wanted… needed… to feel someone in his arms. But no matter how often he reminded himself that he wasn't ever going to hold Gracia again, he just couldn't bring himself to put the guilt and the sense that he was somehow cheating on his wife behind him.

Hughes suddenly had the overwhelming urge to kick himself. Here was a woman, lovely in her own unique way, and who knew who and what he was; who didn't care that he was from another time and place. She was intelligent, witty, and she was able to deal with Ed without batting an eye. That was a big plus in his book in this world. And he'd just hurt her feelings. _Hughes_, he thought, _sometimes you can be an idiot_.

He never quite got the chance to apologize, though.

She smiled and ducked her head; but not before he saw the color rise on her cheeks. "Okay, good. Because… well… kissing you was kinda like… kissing Ducky, there."

"Hey!"

Hughes and Reilly both started, and turned toward the doorway. Ducky and Ed were standing there; Ducky looking somewhat put out, and Ed just staring with his mouth hanging open.

"I think I've just been insulted!" Ducky complained.

Ed blinked, and grinned. "Not half as much as Hughes was."

Hughes covered a laugh with a badly faked cough that he knew no one was buying, and watched as a look of pure mischief crossed Reilly's face. She slipped from his arm, crossed over to Ducky, and gave him a long, hard look. Then she grabbed his chin and planted a long kiss on his lips.

When she finally let him up for air, her look was thoughtful. Then she glanced over at Ed. Hughes saw the growing horror on the boy's face; but before he could make good his escape, Reilly had him by the back of his head, and was kissing him, too.

When she finally released him, he stared at her in shock and Hughes wondered just how long until the bomb went off. One… two… thr—

"WHAT THE GODDAMN HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT YOU PERVERTED OLD WOMAN?!"

Reilly ignored the outburst and grinned at Hughes. "I was wrong. Kissing you is more like kissing Ed."

"FUCK!" Ed spat, and wiped his mouth. "HOW DAMN MUCH HAVE YOU HAD TO DRINK TONIGHT, ANYWAY?!"

Reilly cocked a brow and said, "Come to think of it, kissing Ducky is kinda like kissing Ed."

"HEY! NOW I'M INSULTED!"

"You know, I need to get more information," Reilly said with a smirk. "My research really isn't complete."

From the living room, Tom yelled, "Come near me with those lips, and I'll rip them off your face, Woman!"

Hughes felt his knees go weak at the absurdity of the scene. Reilly was the mischievous calm in the center of a raging Ed-storm, and it looked like Ducky was the sole victim as he leaned slumped against the doorframe with a most befuddled and happy look on his face.

"She kissed me!" Ducky mumbled, then grinned drunkenly. "I can die happy now!"

Hughes caught the look on Reilly's face. She knew exactly how he felt, and showed him that it was all right. He realized there was something more to her than she or Ed had shown him and the Investigator in him vowed to find out what it was.

0o0o0

**May 15, 2006 – 6:22pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

"Dammit, Hughes! Why didn't you double check how much you needed of that crap?"

"Hey, it looked too thin to me."

Ducky heard the two of them arguing before he'd even opened the front door; and between the shouting and the smell, he knew that there had been another failed latex experiment.

"Do you even know what you're doing there?"

He chuckled low as he let himself in and headed straight to the kitchen.

"How hard can it be? It's bearings and gears."

"It's also the only right arm I have, damnit!"

Ducky was brought up short at the sight of Hughes bent over Ed's automail arm; which was not only no longer attached to Ed, but the forearm was opened up and laying in pieces all over the table. _This is bad_, he thought.

Ducky had lost count of the number of attempts made to cover Ed's prosthetic arm with something that would at least allow it to pass as 'real' without too close of an inspection. He didn't lose track of how abysmally each attempt failed, though. Each one seemed to be just one step more disastrous than the last. From the look of all the guts from the inside of Ed's arm all over the table, Ducky figured this one had to be the mother of all failures.

Gears and bearings and wires and other bits and pieces that were not immediately identifiable were spread out on newspaper all over the table; and all of it was covered with a smelly, sticky, gooey mess that may or may not have been latex.

Hughes was currently attempting to pry something loose from the inside of the arm; his brow was deeply knitted and the tip of his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in his intent concentration. Spatters of light pink latex dotted his face and his hair, with one rather noticeable gobbet clinging to the corner of his glasses that only emphasized the maniacal glee sparking in the man's green eyes.

Ed was similarly splattered; mostly all over the empty right sleeve of the old tshirt that had to originally belong to Hughes, because Ed was practically drowning in it. A quick scan of the kitchen told Ducky that they'd at least had the forethought to lay newspapers on the floor. _Well, Reilly won't kill them too badly_, he thought.

The scene had a strange sense of surrealism to it. The bright sunlight and gentle, fragrant breezes filtering through the cheerful yellow curtains had no business being paired with the Shelleyesque madman hunched over what equated to being a disassembled human limb at a very innocuous kitchen table in the middle of North America. And while Ducky had intellectualized the fact that Ed was missing an arm and a leg-- _Dear Goddess! That thing goes up to his thigh_! –It was another matter altogether to see one of those limbs unattached.

It might've been comical, were it not so dire.

"Careful there!" Ed protested from the other side of the table. "Don't bend that gear."

"I'm… not… going… to bend—" Hughes said as he used a flathead screwdriver as a prybar. The unidentifiable part came loose quite suddenly. It flipped out of the arm, bounced once, then flew off the table. Only Ducky's uncanny peripheral vision and quick reflexes prevented it from haring off for parts unknown.

"DAMMIT!" Ed shouted as he came out of his seat to chase after the escaped piece. It was only then that either man realized Ducky was actually there.

The hacker grinned at Ed's stunned look and opened up his hand. Nested in his palm, amid curds of something that Ducky now realized was most definitely _not_ latex, was the small bearing. "Lose something?"

Ed almost allowed himself to look relieved as he snatched the bearing from Ducky's hand. "Thanks," he grumbled and flopped back down into his seat.

Ducky looked for something to wipe the sticky goo off his hand. "Just what the hell is all over this stuff, anyway?"

"It's supposed to be adhesive," Ed said. He jerked a thumb at Hughes. "But Mr. 'It's-too-thin' went wild with it, and it seeped into my automail."

"It was too thin," Hughes protested. "The pieces weren't sticking together."

Ed ignored him. "Next thing I know, it coagulates and I can't move my fingers."

Hughes gave Ed an annoyed scowl, then bent back down to pry another part loose from the congealed mess inside the arm. Ducky didn't even want to attempt to contemplate just how much adhesive was used; but watching Hughes stab at the parts still glued inside was becoming painful.

"Maes," Ducky said as he set his laptop aside and came around the table. "Dude, you're using the way wrong tools here."

Ed scowled at him. "You people don't even have automail here, how would you know?"

Ducky just smiled and pointed at the pieces scattered on the table. "It's gears and bearings and springs. Clockworks. You need more delicate tools to work with them." He tapped Hughes on the shoulder to get his attention, and said. "Stop right there, before you do any more damage." Then he headed back out to the Ninjavan.

After digging around in the back of the van, he came up with his tool case, a new gallon of antifreeze, and several moderately clean rags. With a satisfied nod, he went back inside.

When he returned to the kitchen, both men were just as he left them. Ducky was silently grateful that Hughes was willing to see logic, and stopped jabbing that screwdriver at the gears in Ed's arm. He might be able to fix this disaster, but he damn sure knew he wouldn't be able to replace the arm. Not with one that actually worked, anyway.

Ed stared suspiciously at the gallon of antifreeze, and Ducky held it up. "Ethylene glycol. It'll soften the adhesive enough that we can clean it off your parts without corroding them." He glanced significantly at Hughes. "Or scraping at them."

He set the antifreeze down and dropped the rags on top of the jug, then he shooed Hughes out of the seat and took his place. He was all business as he opened up the tool case and gently poked around the remaining mechanics of the arm. "Damn, Maes, you really did a number on his arm this time," he said with a laugh.

"Can you fix it?" Ed asked.

Ducky glanced up and was taken aback at the expression on the younger man's face. It wasn't his usual suspicion or antagonism. It was expectation and hope, which told Ducky that Ed was terribly desperate.

He gave him a crooked grin and said, "I used to spend my summers in 'Bammy with my dad. His, um… hobby… didn't always pay enough to afford a mechanic to do rebuilds on car parts. I can rebuild trannies, carbs and starters with my eyes closed." He held up his hands to show Ed the pale criss-crossed lines of small scars all over them. "It took weeks after getting back home to get all the grease out from under my fingernails and for my knuckles to heal." He bent his head back down to concentrate on the small parts in the forearm, using the smaller tools to pry them loose with minimal effort. "Dad also taught me how to drive," he said with a snicker.

Hughes flipped a chair around and straddled it as he watched. "Your dad used to race?"

Ducky glanced up and smirked. "You could say that. Wasn't any racetrack he ran on, though. The county he lived in was dry as a bone."

Hughes chuckled, but Ed looked from one man to the other, confused. "I don't get it."

Ducky went back to working the rest of the parts loose. "Dad ran 'shine, Ed. Moonshine. Illegally distilled liquor. The county he lived in didn't allow alcohol at all. Not even three-two beer." He coaxed a gear out of its adhesive prison, and held it up to give it a closer inspection. "It takes skill to outrun them Revenuers and Local Yokels, boy," he said with a very pronounced Deep South accent.

He turned his attention to Hughes. "Reilly's got at least one galvanized bucket in the shed; and considering what a space cadet she can be, I'll bet you good money she has two. Can you get them for me? Oh, and a strainer of some sort."

The older man nodded and headed out the back door. When he left, Ducky went back to inspecting the parts that had been yanked out of the arm before he got there.

"Automail isn't exactly car parts, Ducky," Ed said.

"True," he said. "But from the looks of it, the principle's about the same. Gears, bearings, springs…" He fingered the wires sticking out of the arm curiously. "…wires…" He glanced back at Ed. "How do these hook up, by the way?"

Ed patted at the empty right sleeve and said, "They connect to the jacks in the port."

"P-port?" Ducky felt his stomach lurch.

Ed gave him a slight smile. He thought a moment, hesitated, then peeled the tshirt off.

Ducky felt his jaw drop and the blood start to rush out of his head. He took a couple of deep breaths, regained his composure, then blurted, "Jesus fuck, Ed! Is that thing… _bolted_ to you?!"

Ed nodded. He lightly touched the bolts on the front. "Collarbone, a couple in the rib…" he reached up, and tapped at his shoulder. "…shoulder blade."

He shifted in his seat and turned the open port to give Ducky a better view. "It's bolted on the inside, too."

At the sight of the wires hanging out of the port and the other bearings and gears, Ducky began to feel a bit light-headed. Sure, Ed had told him the damn things were wired to him and that was how they were articulated; but he never really thought about it much. He chose _not_ to think about it, in fact. It was harder to digest now that he could see how the limbs were actually _wired_. To Ed. Literally.

He was stunned to notice that Ed's torso was all corded muscle; he'd always thought the kid was just a skinny little shit. _Makes sense though_, he thought. _The weight of all that steel caused him to burn off any bit of fat he possessed. Bet cold weather kicks his ass, too._ He didn't miss the huge scars peeking out from under the port, either. "That musta hurt like hell," he whispered.

"Heh. Especially when the wires were fused with my nerves."

"F-fused?" Ducky stammered as he mentally fought back the black spots that were creeping in at the edges of his vision. _Okay, too much information_, he thought. _I really didn't need to know that._

Ed smirked. "Can't use a general anesthetic during that part of the procedure."

"You mean you were… _awake_?"

"Well, yeah," Ed said, as if that should have been perfectly obvious.

The last thing Ducky saw as he pitched forward was Ed's startled look.

0o0o0

The first thing Ducky thought when he opened his eyes again, was that Reilly seriously needed to paint her ceiling. The second thing was that he wasn't on the kitchen floor. He was on the couch in the living room. Which made him wonder just how long he was out.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he heard Hughes say from somewhere near his feet.

Ducky blinked and lifted his head. He found the older man sitting on the arm of the couch, giving him a bemused, lopsided smile. The hacker rolled his eyes and let his head fall back onto the cushion. "Man, how embarrassing. How long was I out?"

"About half an hour," Hughes said. "And don't worry about it. I don't think Ed suffered any permanent trauma."

"Huh?"

Hughes chuckled and clapped a hand down on Ducky's shin; then he held it out to him. The younger man reached out, grabbed the offered hand and let Hughes help him up.

"Not many people can handle hearing the particulars of automail surgery, Ducky," Hughes said. "Ed's so used to being around people who can, he sometimes forgets."

He heard the toilet flush; then a moment later the bathroom door opened and Ed's uneven gait could be heard coming down the hall. He looked up when he heard him stop at the entrance to the living room.

Ducky gave Ed an embarrassed smile. "Now you know why I'm my mother's biggest disappointment."

Ed gave him a puzzled look and asked, "Why?"

"She wanted me to be a doctor. I couldn't even get past dissecting a frog in high school biology."

Ed looked mildly disgusted at that. "I wouldn't want to either." Then he nodded toward the kitchen. "Can you…"

"Finish putting your arm back together?" Ducky's brows shot up, and he shook his head with a befuddled smile. "God that sounds so bizarre when I say it; but yeah. Just don't ask me to reattach it."

Ed grinned and gave him an odd, one-shouldered shrug. "That's no problem. I've reattached it myse-- Shit! Don't pass out again, damnit!"

Ducky leaned forward and put his head between his knees when he felt himself get woozy again. He waved a hand and said, "Don't worry about me. I'll be just dandy."

0o0o0

Three hours, countless cusswords, and several runs through Ducky's favorite playlist on his MP3 player later, the arm was back in one piece. All preliminary tests showed that all the parts were where they should be. He certainly hoped so, after the clusterfuck of getting some of them back in there. There just wasn't enough room in the cramped space of the steel forearm for two hands, let alone three or four; but there were moments that he needed those extra hands. Especially with the springs.

Ducky was now outside, leaning against the back bumper of the Ninjavan and waiting for the yells. Ed warned him that reattaching the arm would hurt like hell; so outside seemed like a really, _really_ good place to be. However, he was fairly certain that just being outside wasn't going to be enough. He knew how loud Ed could yell. What he needed was something else to muffle the sounds.

He pulled his MP3 player from his back pocket, selected the loudest playlist he could, shoved the earbuds in and cranked it.

He had his eyes closed and was happily rocking away into blissful oblivion, when a tap on his shoulder startled him enough to make him shout. He opened his eyes to the amused look on Reilly's face. He yanked the earbuds out, and snapped, "What're you tryin' to do? Kill me?"

She snorted. "Your hick is showing dear. Rough day?"

Before he could answer, a guttural, anguished growl filtered through the open windows and he saw Reilly go pale; then she nearly landed in Ducky's lap when she swayed. "What in the Holy Hell was that?"

He caught her before she could topple over into his lap and said, "It's okay. Ed's just putting his arm back on."

She managed to get her feet back under her, and just stated at Ducky. "Do… what?"

Ducky gave her a weak smile and patted at his right shoulder. "Apparently the arm is literally wired to his ner—ooohhman…"

It was finally more than he could deal with. He leaned forward and vomited between Reilly's feet.

She jumped back out of the way, and said, "Oh yeah. You've had a rough day, all right."

She waited until the flood had passed, and helped him to his feet. "From the sounds of it, you weren't the only one having a hard time today."

"Jeeze, I'm such a wimp," Ducky said with a slight laugh.

"It takes a real man to be able to admit that, love," Reilly responded with a light hug around his shoulder.

Ducky grinned and laid his head on her shoulder as they headed for the house. "Aw gee, Reilly. Does this mean we're going steady now?"

"Don't push your luck, asshole."

0o0o0

"Wait a minute! You mean he's all metal underneath the skin?"

"Yeah, he's a cyborg. Kinda like you, only more advanced."

"Coooool."

Hughes chuckled and took another sip of his beer. He and Reilly were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying the relative calm after the day's excitement. He'd cleaned up; himself and the kitchen. Now he had less of the mad scientist about him and more of the old Maes Hughes. And the day hadn't been a total loss. The latex was fine. In fact it was damn near perfect; in the way it was pieced together, the color, and even the formula. It was the adhesive they'd had a problem with. Hughes made a mental note to use less; and to only use it on the pieces of latex, rather than the automail.

Ed and Ducky were in the living room having a 'Terminator' marathon and for once they weren't antagonizing each other.

Hughes could almost… _almost_… relax. If it weren't for the fact that Reilly kept nervously peeking out the window. And the rather depressing news she had to give him.

"They probably won't move right away," she said. "But the account is frozen." She stared down at her bottle, running her finger through the condensation. "The bank, _said_ it was just a computer problem."

"You don't buy it?"

She glanced up. "Would you? Considering the circumstances?"

"So how much did you get?"

"About seventy-five." She shrugged. "I suppose it'll cover our asses for a little while."

"'Our'? You mean you'll run, too?"

"Can't exactly send him on his way and pretend I don't know anything."

"So you're prepared, right?" Hughes asked. "To run at a moment's notice?"

She nodded and stared back down at the table. "Packed and ready. I even have all recorded evidence and my research burned to DVD." She laughed once; a short, sad sound. "I even picked up a fairly good digicam a couple weeks ago." A smirk tugged at her lips. "I've been driving Ed crazy with it, too."

"I want a motorcycle like that."

"Good luck finding one in your size."

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE CAN ONLY RIDE A TRICYCLE?!"

"You, Terminator-boy," Ducky said with a giggle that bordered on crazy.

Hughes tensed, waiting for the impending sounds of all-hell-breaking-loose; but it got very quiet suddenly. Which was more disturbing, in his opinion.

Then, very softly… very dangerously, he heard Ed say, "Keep it up asshole, and I'll pin you down and go into the gory details of automail surgery."

"You wouldn't."

"Equivalent Exchange… Bitch."

Hughes blinked, and stared over at Reilly. "I'm beginning to think this society is having a bad influence on him."

Reilly just snickered.

"Yeah, but I'm your bitch…" Ducky said in his worst hick accent. "…and you sure got a purdy mouth."

"You might wanna duck, Hughes," Reilly said.

"No shit," he said through his laughter.

"GAH! GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU PSYCHO PERVERT!" Ed bellowed over Ducky's insane cackling.

Reilly sighed. "I knew the cease-fire wouldn't last."

"You'd swear they were related," Hughes said.

"Aww, I thought we really had something between us," Ducky said with badly feigned heartbreak.

"STAY ON YOUR OWN SIDE OF THE COUCH, OR YOU'LL BE EATING AUTOMAIL, DAMNIT!"

Before there could be an explosion that would bring the house down around their ears, the phone rang in the living room.

"Phone!" Ducky called.

"No shit, noob! You're closer, you get it," Reilly said.

"Hey, I don't live here," he called back, but the ringing stopped. "Joe's Wedding Chapel and Mortuary. You marry 'em, we bury 'em."

"Coulda fooled me," Reilly muttered.

0o0o0

Ducky recognized the voice on the other end of the line immediately; which was a good thing, because there was no way he was getting a word in edge-wise to ask until Heist ran out of steam. He rolled his eyes and sighed as she rattled on at about warp ten, running all her words together and never stopping for breath.

He knew this was going to take awhile and there was nothing he could do but wait patiently. He flopped down into the desk chair and shook the mouse to kill the screensaver; then he shouldered the phone and fired up the browser. He started at Google, typed in a couple of keywords, and began to pull up several pages of news stories. He quickly scanned through them; all of them different perspectives of the explosion that rocked the hospital in Wichita. There was a lot of speculation about what caused it. None of it based on hard facts. At least, not 'hard facts' per the definition of the major news sources. Of course, he wasn't looking for logical explanations, either.

Ducky had years of experience and a lot of practice in picking out keywords when Heist was on a tear. Most of what she said he discarded instantly; but there were a few things that caught his attention. It was one of those things that led him to the blog someone had written concerning the explosion.

Or more appropriately, the aftermath and clean-up. He grinned hugely and snapped his fingers at Ed in an attempt to get his attention. The younger man just scowled at him, gave him a metal one-fingered salute, and went back to watching the movie.

Ducky growled low and yanked Reilly's pillow out from behind him. He hurled it at Ed, smacking the boy in the face quite nicely.

"Hey!"

Ducky gestured for him to get his over to the computer, now. When Ed was looking over his shoulder, he pointed at the blog and highlighted a paragraph in particular. He watched as Ed scowled, then comprehension dawned.

At that point, Heist actually took a breath, and Ducky dove in before she could get started again. "Got it. You have a number for this guy?" He paused, nodding as she started rattling on again. "Wait… Okay, have him call my cell. I'm headed for home to pack now. You sure you can talk him into this? Sa-weet! Later, Gator."

As soon as the call was disconnected, Ed blurted, "You found Al."

"Maybe," Ducky cautioned as he got up. He noticed that Hughes and Reilly were both in the living room now, anticipation as plain on their faces as it was on Ed's. "Got a lead, and maybe a job. That explosion at the hospital screwed the computer system up, and they've contracted a friend of Heist's to go in and do a recovery."

"So you're headed to Wichita?" Reilly asked.

Ducky nodded as he collected his tools and laptop. "She said she can talk him into bringing me in for the duration. That'll get me inside and maybe then I can confirm if Al's there."

"So how long are you going to be gone?" Hughes asked.

Ducky shouldered the case and dug in his pocket for his keys. "Two weeks at the minimum. Could be a month or more."

"A month?!" Ed said with about as much dismay in his voice as Ducky had ever heard. He could see the younger man's distress and genuinely felt for him. _This waiting is killing him_, he thought.

He rested a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Sorry, Dude. I can't walk out in the middle of the job. It'd raise too much suspicion. I'll keep in contact, though. I promise."

With that, he sketched a sloppy salute and headed out.


	13. Ch 12 Welcome to the Twilight Zone

"**Welcome to the Twilight Zone, I'll be Your Server Tonight"**

**Arc One; Chapter Twelve**

**Balance of Power**

**May 27, 2006 – 5:22 pm**

**Cedar Rapids, Iowa**

Sidney was ready to kill someone.

The current hospital he was investigating was the eighth on his list in the city of Cedar Rapids, and the constant runaround and bureaucracy bullshit he was getting from the various hospitals' staffs had him ready to turn the next human being who spoke to him into a splattered pile of bloodred goo. And he probably wouldn't hesitate to do it in public, either.

_I need to calm down_, he thought as he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a very beaten-up packet of cigarettes. _As much as I'd like to, I can't kill these people. Too bad._

Sidney stuck the cigarette into his mouth and dug for a lighter. Only concerned with his personal irritation and the desire to calm himself, he spun the flint wheel and brought the flame up to the tube of tobacco.

"Um, excuse me, sir?"

He let loose a low growl, raising his eyes to glare at the offending speaker. "Yes?"

The nurse he'd questioned earlier gave him a curt glare right back. "You aren't allowed to smoke in here, sir. I'll have to ask you to go outside, or be escorted there."

Sidney raised an eyebrow. "And just who would escort me, hmm?"

"I will." Not hesitating to seize him by the arm, the petite female nurse started dragging him to the exit. "Come with me, sir."

The smirk on James Sidney Bond's face turned downright creepy. "If you insist."

It wasn't until the next day that an exploded female body was found behind the hospital dumpsters, the corpse only identifiable by the nametag still firmly affixed to the shredded scrubs.

0o0o0o

**7:03 pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

It had been a very long, very fruitless couple of weeks for Ducky.

He'd been at the hospital going from one ward to the next to search for and salvage the files needed to keep the hospital going. It was grunt-work and not worthy of his skills, but it was the best way to find out what he needed. Working the main database in the hospital IT department wouldn't do him any good. Besides, IT proper was a nightmare that kept the contracted team locked up in the place for 16 hours or more at a shot. Why it took the hospital IT department to finally admit defeat and call in the contractors, Ducky didn't care to contemplate; but it was a source of tension that he preferred to avoid.

He'd reached the point where there was just a backlog of files to decrypt and the excitement of having a rush put on a file had dwindled. He actually had time to do a little reconnaissance and bend a handful of laws to the point they screamed in protest.

Three days ago, he'd found one file that had been very interesting and disheartening. It was a John Doe case that matched the parameters of Al's description; but it stated that the boy had been transferred to another hospital in Iowa. _Fuck! Back to square one_, he thought. And to make matters worse, he was stuck there until the job was complete.

It was too soon to contact Tom to give him the bad news. He wanted to confirm that the transferred patient was Al, anyway. On a hunch that morning he'd moved on to the psych ward and spotted a boy fitting Al's description having a wheelchair race with his nurse and one of the other boys in the ward.

He was almost certain the boy was Ed's brother; they had the same sense of humor at least, and a biting intelligence that Ducky had already seen in Ed. There was a definite similarity to the picture he'd found on the 'net that Ed had positively ID'd. Unfortunately, in his mind, the boy was blending in too well; Ducky still wasn't sure if he was the one he was looking for. Firm confirmation one way or the other would require getting a lot closer to the boy and talking to him.

As luck would have it, he came to Ducky soon after the Wheelchair 500.

The hacker had dove deep into the dark recesses of the nurse's station hard drive when the three racers had wandered off for lunch; Rammstein cranking at full volume in his ears to block out everything else. He had no idea how long he'd been under, but he nearly came out of his skin when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He spun in his seat and came face-to-face with the slight-built boy whose huge hazel eyes had gone the size of saucers and his good hand had gone up in a defensive posture.

Ducky closed his eyes and laid a hand over his racing heart, willing it to slow down. When he opened them again, the boy was saying something to him in a voice far too deep for his size and age. The hacker blinked, trying to follow what he was saying, but he didn't understand German. Then he realized he still had the earbuds in, and _Feuer frei!_ was blasting away.

"Huh?" he said as he yanked the buds out.

The kid gave him a bemused look and said, "I was just wondering if you were okay? You were jerking around in your seat like you'd been electrocuted."

Ducky scowled half-heartedly at the insult. "I'll have you know, Rammstein is damn good music and I've been complimented on my dancing."

The boy looked at him like he thought he was insane and it hit Ducky right in the center of the chest. It was so much like Ed it was scary. _Score!_

Then he pointed at the MP3 player sitting in the hacker's lap and said, "What's that?"

Ducky held it up. "This? It's my MP3 player. Okay, okay, I know it's not quite as cool as an iPod, but it does what I want."

"Eye pod?"

_Score number two_, Ducky thought and felt his breath hitch in his throat. He wanted to make absolutely certain that it was Al, so he did the only thing he could think of. He offered up the earbuds and said, "Wanna take a listen?"

The kid stuck the buds in his ears and gave a listen. After a moment his brows shot up and he practically yelled, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

_Score number three. Tri-FUCKING-fecta!_ It took every ounce of willpower the hacker possessed to keep from leaping out of his seat and doing a victory dance.

Ducky brought his impulse under control, then chuckled and tugged the buds out of the boy's ears. "You don't have to yell. And no, I don't."

Al snickered behind his good hand and said, "Might be a good thing. Those lyrics aren't very happy."

"Heh. You should hear some of their other stuff, this song is mild."

Confusion etched the boy's face. "If you don't speak German, how do you know?"

Ducky reached back and tapped on the computer monitor. "There's a website with the translated lyrics."

About that time, the huge nurse that had been racing him and the other kid earlier called "Tiger!" and Al trotted off with a smile and a wave.

Ducky watched as Al left, then turned back around to finish his work. Before he knew it, he had gone under again, and was oblivious to the rest of the world; but he couldn't keep from grinning psychotically. _IfoundhimIfoundhimIfoundhim! I AM a God! And Terminator-boy will worship at my feet! Well, maybe not, but he's probably gunna be a lot less snarky._

Lost in giddy thought, the young hacker nearly jumped out of his chair when he felt a very large, very heavy finger tap him on the top of the head. Jerking the earbuds out of his ears once more, he spun in his seat and came face-to-face with a light blue wall. His eyes went wide and traveled up to see the face of the nurse the kid had been racing with--Ray, he thought--and had to repress the urge to gulp.

"Didn't your shift end a few hours ago?" the large nurse asked, jerking a thumb at the wall. Ducky cast a quick glance to the side and up at the clock hanging there, then blinked at the time. _Shit, I shoulda checked in with Tom an hour ago, he thought._

"Oh." Ducky gave the intimidating man a sheepish grin, then turned back to the computer and started to shut down the programs he was using. "Sorry about that; I just don't know where the hours in the day go when I'm on a computer," he said in a rush.

"Actually, I'm glad you're still here." Ray gave him a smirk that Ducky could swear he saw fang in and a hand the size of a dinner plate clapped him on the shoulder. "I wanted to ask you a few questions, about earlier."

_OhshitI'mfucking__**dead**_. "E-Earlier?"

"Yeah, when you were talking with my patient."

_Fuck_. "Oh. Uh, okay, sure," he squeaked.

"Come with me, I know just the place we can go and talk."

Ray grinned evilly and Ducky was quite certain that if he made one wrong move, the giant nurse wouldn't hesitate to rip his spleen out through his nostrils. _This is not good._

As they passed an open door he was roughly shoved through and into a cramped linen closet that was made all the tighter with the presence of the living, breathing wall in a nurse's uniform. Ray slammed the door behind him, jerked the light on and lifted Ducky by his brightly-colored shirt in one smooth, lightning move that should have been impossible for anything that huge to accomplish.

Ducky grasped at the hand, feeling the cloth restrict his breathing. _Oh yeah, I'm a dead man. If I'm lucky, he'll be quick and give me a hemicorporectomy, rather than dismember me slowly._

"What do you want with him?" the nurse asked, dark eyes glaring into Ducky's.

Ducky gasped hoarsely, hands scrabbling at the one holding him up. "I-I was just talking to him! I swear!" he squeaked out, trying to get some air.

"It didn't look like that to me. You were trolling for information."

Ducky choked as he was shaken like a rabbit in rhythm to the words.

"Now what do you want with him?"

Ducky panicked and tried to blink away the spots swimming in his vision as he was bounced off the wall a couple of times for emphasis. The words spilled from his mouth. "I swear I wouldn't hurt Al, ever! I mean it! Just let me go!"

The large nurse paused, glaring even more at Ducky. "You know his name?" he asked, the large hands finally loosening enough to at least allow the hacker to breathe.

As he gasped for ragged breaths, Ducky nodded. He couldn't do anything else.

And he was utterly shocked when he was set down gently and the large man sagged against a cabinet of towels then slid to the floor. "Thank God. How's Ed?"

Ducky coughed again, until he'd caught his breath. "He's fine... wait how do you know about Ed?" he asked, staring at the large nurse.

"It's a long story. Let's just say that I've been protecting the kid, all right?" Ray looked up at Ducky and the hacker was amazed at the relief in the man's look. "You're here to get him out, aren't you?"

Ducky shrugged. "Actually, I'm recon. We weren't entirely sure this John Doe was Al. He looks and acts enough like Terminator that it should be obvious, though."

"Terminator?"

"Also a long story." Ducky grinned at Ray. "Tell Terminator Junior that his brother's coming to get him, okay?"

"Ed can tell him himself." Reaching into his pocket, Ray scribbled something onto a sheet of paper. "That's Al's e-mail address; 'Gene set him up with one a few days ago."

Ducky looked at the address and smirked. "Awesome. Make sure that kid stays safe; we'll be coming to get him as soon as I finish this job."

Ray smirked right back. "Get the job done soon, then. That kid needs out of here before he goes fucking insane." Wiping the smirk off his face, the nurse sighed. "He's got someone after him; that note in his file was to throw the agent off his scent."

Ducky's eyes widened. "Who's after him?"

"Some Fed-boy; Al accidentally used something that'd be really useful to the Feds, and they were asking a lot questions."

Ducky cursed. "Well that's just great. I'll be sure to pass that information on, though." Opening the door, Ducky peered outside, then grinned. "See you later, Fezzik."

Ray let a relieved chuckled escape his lips, then he got up and slipped out the door. "Respect your elders hippie, before I chop that ponytail off." He waved. "Have a good night."

Ducky nodded, then looked at the address one more time, a relieved grin on his face. _Ed's going to shit himself with joy_, he thought as he poked his earbuds back in his ears and sauntered off. _We've got him._

0o0o0o

**7:13 pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Ed rubbed his temples and tried to reread Reilly's notes once more. Between the awkwardness of staring at the computer screen, being leashed by the wrist to the tower, and her theories based more in speculation and mysticism than science, his head was really beginning to hurt and his eyes were burning.

He'd spent weeks sifting through the tangled mess that Reilly called research. The first one was wasted just figuring out her bizarre filing system. _I should be used to that_, he thought. All alchemists code their notes. _But Reilly's has no rhyme or reason. Well, it does, it just isn't based in logic._

He'd finally set his stubbornness and skepticism aside out of self-preservation. He needed something to challenge his mind before he went completely stir-crazy. Reilly's gates and leylines were what was available. He had to admit, when he could peel away the layers of speculation, her theories had some measure of validity. Especially in light of what actual science now knew about the brain and how it worked.

"_When you told me about taking your alchemy exam, you mentioned one candidate almost lost his life because he was too exhausted to move,"_ Reilly had said one quiet night in the garden.

"_Yeah. What about it?"_

"_If your alchemy is powered by the souls of the dead from this side of the gate, then why was he so wiped out? That doesn't make sense if the energy supposedly came from somewhere other than himself."_

Ed pondered that question for a long time.

"_What we know today about how the brain works,"_ she had told him a few days later, _"is that when a person has a thought, there's an electrical charge that jumps from one neuron to another."_

"_Thought is energy?"_

Reilly nodded. _"And I'm sure you know the first law of thermodynamics, right?"_

"_Energy cannot be created or destroyed. It can only be transformed from one form to another. The total energy is constant within any system. But that could still cover my father's theory."_

"_Perhaps. But anyone can learn to draw a circle with the right symbols. Why is it that not everyone can perform a transmutation?"_

Ed snorted. _"Easy. They don't know how."_

"_How do you do it?"_

"_I know the chemistry of what I'm transmuting."_

"_So? If I drew the right circle with the right symbols and knew the exact chemistry, I couldn't transmute a damn thing. What is it that you add that is the catalyst?"_

For once, Ed didn't have an answer. At least not one based in hard science or alchemy as he understood it. Reilly did, though. Or rather, she had a theory. It just couldn't be quantified with any sort of reliability; even in this world.

He leaned back in the chair and looked down at his hands. All his life, he'd just accepted that alchemy and his ability to transmute something was possible. He had an unshakable _faith_ that he would be able to make the transmutation work like it should as long as he applied the right principles. As unshakable as knowing the sun would rise every morning.

He'd only failed twice in his entire life. Once when he and Al tried to rebuild a bridge outside of Rush Valley; when he neglected to take into account a few of the basic principles of physics.

The first time he failed though, was when they tried to bring back their mother. What they didn't realize back then, was that the human soul was impossible to quantify.

According to Reilly's theories, faith equaled thought, which equaled energy, and that energy was what made up the soul. Once a person dies, that energy was transformed into something else and could never be recovered. And it was his soul that was the energy that powered alchemy.

"_So why can't I do alchemy without a circle on this side of the gate?"_ he asked.

"_Universal faith."_

"_Come again?"_

"_Alchemy is just accepted as a fact in your world. Even the people who don't use it still know it exists. That's Universal Faith. That energy is a part of the fabric of that universe. Here, alchemy has become legend and mysticism. You don't have the energy of Universal Faith helping your alchemy along. You just have your own faith in it."_

The principle for the gates was essentially the same. They were once sacred places and a lot of _faith_ was placed in them. The energy of those sacred places was never lost, it was just transformed, collected, and eventually became the gates. The energy of those gates was never lost; it was transformed and became the leylines. The energy of the leylines was never lost, it just traveled from one gate to another. "But what does that energy transform into?" he asked himself.

_And if Reilly is right, then would all concepts of an afterlife be completely invalid? _he wondered. _Even the atheist one?_

That had been the burning question on Ed's mind for weeks now. It was the reason he was going through Reilly's notes. He thought if he searched hard enough, he would figure out the answer; and that was leagues better than letting his brain turn to mush with the aid of the idiot box.

He also thought perhaps there might be something that would help them in the near future. As it was, the plans to get Ed integrated had been tossed onto the back burner for now. There had been a few incidences that spooked Reilly and she was more interested in preparations to run, if it came to that. Ed didn't argue the point. Ducky was now somewhere in Wichita chasing rumors that Al was there; and Tom was still following other leads. No one had the time or the ability at the moment. Hughes was doing what he could, but he was also busy investigating the things Reilly was worried about.

There was a small part of his mind that thought he might find answers of another sort, as well. A way out of this strange world and maybe… just maybe… back home. Back to Amestris. _I can't afford to think about that right now_, he thought as he rubbed his tired, burning eyes once more. _Not until I know more. Until I know for certain it's not going to require sacrificing someone's life in order to open a gate back home._

Ed rested his left hand on the back of his neck and rotated his head in an effort to relieve some of the tension. Reilly had warned him that spending too much time on a computer wasn't good for him, but he'd forget the time when he got deep into her notes. His aching head, neck and eyes told him he'd been there too long, though. It was time to get away from the damn thing. His eyes not only burned, but they were starting to feel heavy. _Been on __**far**__ too long_, he thought.

He rested his head on his crossed arms and closed his eyes. _Just for a minute_, he thought. _Let me rest my eyes a minute and then I'll go out back and get some air._

His eyes snapped open and he realized, with some dismay, that he'd dozed off. It took a moment longer for him to comprehend that the playlist he'd been running had also ended. _Odd_, he thought. _That should still be playing when Reilly gets home. How long was I out?_

He raised his head and wiped at the corner of his mouth, then scowled when he noticed the screen was black. Not like when he'd wiped the hard drive, but like the computer was turned off. He looked under the desk, and saw that the machine was still plugged in, and a quick once-over showed him nothing else had been disconnected as far as he could tell.

It was then he realized he wasn't hearing anything but silence, period. The windows were open, but he couldn't hear any crickets or frogs. The usual background noises were missing as well. The refrigerator wasn't humming, the clock on the wall wasn't even ticking. A chill crawled up his spine and his eyes slid to the wall where the old clock hung. The pendulum had stopped moving.

_The Hell?_ He thought he was still asleep. His eyes felt like they weighed a ton, and he just couldn't find the energy to move. And at that moment, he felt like someone had started playing cat's cradle with his intestines. He knew this feeling. Had felt it once before. _The lights are o_n, he realized with horror.

He looked around the living room, peering into the dimmer corners for movement. He couldn't see anything writhing anywhere, but he felt the malevolence. He knew they had to be there somewhere. His eyes went to the dark hallway and he was almost certain that was the source. Except for one thing, it felt like he was being watched from behind.

He tried to turn the seat to look behind him and found the effort it required was enormous. And it was for nothing, because there was nothing there. In fact, it felt like whatever was glaring at him with such pure hatred had kept itself at his back; but he didn't think that was possible, and him miss it…

…Then Ed stopped breathing and his eyes rolled up.

There it was. Hanging directly over his head. His mouth went dry and he swallowed, but it felt like his throat was stuck. _I thought those things hated light._

The light in the living room was subdued, coming from a single lamp on the table at the far end of the couch from him, but it was still light. The spot on the ceiling wasn't that dark. His mind started to shut down in a panic when he saw the wet-hair like tendrils start to spread out from the spilled-ink patch of black. Just like before, the thing was searching for him, but it was right over him and slowly reaching down.

_What the fuck was it Reilly said?_ He wracked his brain trying to remember. The words came hesitantly and weakly. "I-if y-you're not here in the n-name of light, then in th-the name of light, begone."

The tendrils stopped their search and jerked back like they'd been burned. Ed almost breathed again.

_Why aren't they leaving?_

The shadows continued to hang over his head like a gathering storm and he was still feeling drained. "Damnit," he complained without his usual force. "If you're not here in the name of light, then in the name of light begone," he said again. He said it with more conviction, but nowhere near the energy Reilly had used. He just didn't have it.

The shadows suddenly seemed to contract in on themselves and he saw them begin to swirl. Like a cyclone, the shadows spun and formed a funnel that was aimed right for him… and he was paralyzed.

_I have to move_, he thought. _I have to find some way to get out of their way before they reach me._

The feeling of helplessness that filled him began to boil over into anger. He hated being helpless with a passion very few people ever felt. It was that absolute black hatred of that feeling that had kept him alive and moving for so many years. He found enough energy to aim that hatred at the shadows. His jaw clenched and he growled. "Fuck you, bastards."

It was a mistake, he realized almost immediately, because the shadows seemed to grow and whirl faster with the force of his anger…

"Fuck!" he blurted as his arm came up and he instinctively flinched from the expected impact.

His reaction was enough to topple the desk chair backwards and spill him onto the hard wood floor in a tangled heap. When he lowered his arm, he could see the shadows return to their searching form as the tendrils reached out to locate their lost target.

_Fuck this_, he thought. _Reilly has faith in light and words, I have faith in alchemy. Lets see just how strong faith is in this case._

He found the energy to clap and change his automail into the short sword. It also caught the attention of the shadows and they charged right for him with the force of a bullet. Ed only had an instant to react, but it was enough.

"Eat automail you bastards," he whispered and swung his arm.

The reaction was instantaneous and explosive. The instant his automail made contact with the shadows, bolts of energy arced between them and his arm, lighting the living room up in a blue-white light. He felt the energy clear into his shoulder; seeping into the ports where the automail was fused to his nerves, short-circuiting them and nearly numbing the entire right half of his body.

He was held in the grip of an entity made of negative energy and was being electrocuted, he was certain of it. He couldn't break free. The shadows had him and were sucking the life right out of him. He could feel the electrical charge coursing through him and reach the port on his left leg before that side started to grow tingly-numb. The only place he had any feeling was where nerves were fused to wires. And damnit, that hurt like hell, too!

The next instant came hours later, when he fell back in an explosion of black rain that felt as solid as smoke.

The world wavered then faded to black as Ed lay on the floor, unable to feel anything with flesh, but feeling every remaining jolt coursing through him at the ports of his automail. He knew that Reilly wouldn't make it home in time to save him. He'd failed his brother… again.

"I'm sorry… Al," he whispered as oblivion washed over him.

0o0o0o

Reilly knew something was up when she went on her break. As she came out of the bathroom, the light in the narrow hall went out and she felt the cold chill of hatred aimed at her back. She had never faced the shadows anywhere but at home and never when she was so wide awake. Her energy wasn't draining from her, either. There was just the hatred. She never turned to look behind her, but walked down the hall and back to the main cubicle farm.

On her way back to her desk, she grabbed one of the floor managers and said, "You need to get maintenance on that hall light. It went out." Still, she refused to look back toward the hall. She wasn't going to give them the power.

"Looks like it's on to me," the manager said.

Reilly spun and stared. The light was back on and seemed to be just fine. _They take advantage of the dark, she thought. They never created their own darkness before._

An icy hand gripped her heart. _Ed_.

"Hey, you okay there?" she heard her manager ask from somewhere far away.

"N-no. No I'm not." She faced the manager finally and swallowed. _No_, she thought, I'm _most definitely not okay_. "I'm not feeling well, I think I'm going home."

"You only have a couple hours left on your shift, Reilly. Can't you make it that long?"

Reilly barely heard him as she stumbled toward her desk long enough to grab her purse.

"You know, this is going on your record. You don't have permission to leave."

"Fine," she said as she aimed herself at the door. "I quit."

0o0o0o

_I never thought you could dream when you're dead_, Ed thought. He heard the light sound of a flute playing nearby; and on the wave of the music, came a sense of peace.

His eyes opened briefly, but he felt a sense of unreality as he felt the music wrap around him in a comforting blanket. Everything was a wobbly blur as Ed sought the source of the sound and found an unrecognizable blob in the center of a lot of other unrecognizable blobs. He blinked in an attempt to clear his eyes and something that vaguely resembled a human took shape, but it wasn't any human he recognized.

"_Wakhan Thánka níci un_," the human-shaped blob said. "You fought the darkness and lived. But another battle will be coming soon."

"W-who—"

"Who I am is not important. That I have news of your brother is."

"A-l?"

"He's safe and under protection. And he's waiting for you."

The blob began to play once more, and Ed drifted back to unconsciousness. Al was safe.

0o0o0o

**8:21 pm**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Tom pulled into the drive of an unassuming middle-class home in the 'burbs. It looked like any other home in the neighborhood; carefully manicured lawn, nearly new minivan in the drive, basketball hoop hanging over the garage, even down to the skateboard left in the middle of the lighted walk up to the door. It was all perfectly, disgustingly banal.

Even the man who answered the door was incredibly… normal. Tall, blonde with a touch of grey starting at the temples, and dressed in the standard uniform of middle-American, middle-Management, middle-Class. Even down to the polo shirt with khaki slacks. It was enough to make Tom queasy.

With a friendly clap on the shoulder and a hearty handshake for any neighbors to see, the man escorted Tom inside where the cover of normalcy continued. Tom gave a nod to the perfectly normal wife with the perfectly normal pre-teen son playing a perfectly normal game of Parcheesi in the living room, and followed the man down the stairs to the perfectly normal basement cum playroom, complete with home theatre system, fully-stocked wet bar, and regulation-sized pool table.

_If things were any more 'normal', it would actually cause suspicion_, he thought as he took a seat at the bar.

Anthony Coltrain was the name the man was going by these days. Tom knew him in a former life as something else entirely and wasn't all that certain that name hadn't been a pseudonym as well. It didn't matter. What did matter, was what the man had hidden in a small room in his basement; behind a door that was very skillfully disguised.

'Anthony' counted out the bundled stack of bills Tom laid on the bar, nodded and picked up a remote control. He pressed a button and the hidden door that looked exactly like the rest of the solid pine paneling in the basement opened. Then he reached under the bar, pulled out a small backpack of the sort a little girl might carry. He handed it to Tom, nodded at the hidden room, and said, "Knock yourself out. It's all clean and untraceable."

Tom couldn't help but grin at all the toys the man had for sale. Cellphone PDAs, wireless network cards, walkie-talkies that scrambled the signal to anyone but the person who it was intended for… he felt like a geek at Christmas.

Anthony hung back at the door casually leaning on the frame with his arms crossed. "Not your usual shopping, Old Man."

Tom smirked and shoved a set of walkie-talkies into the bag. "I thought it was time I finally joined the Twenty-First Century."

Everything had been removed from the boxes to save space, but even then his purchases crammed the little back pack full.

"If you need some more traditional hardware, let me know," Anthony said. "I know a guy."

Tom clasped the man's wrist and grinned. "You know a lot of guys. Hopefully we won't need that hardware, though."

The entire transaction took less than half an hour. Tom was buckling up and just about to turn the key in the ignition when his cellphone beeped. He flipped it open, and found one text message. A single word, _Trifecta_.

_Beautiful_, Tom thought with a grin as he backed out of the drive. The message only meant one thing, Ed's little brother had been found, alive and not seriously injured, and he was safe. Three out of three. Things were looking up.

The good mood lasted only long enough for him to reach the exit of the neighborhood. Tom's phone chirped again and when he answered, he found a very panicked Reilly on the other end.

"He did what? Is he breathing? Pulse fine?" He clenched his jaw as he listened. Reilly almost never panicked, but she was in such a state he could barely understand what she was saying. Something about shadows and electrocution, and Ed being paralyzed? "He's what?! Reilly, slow down. Take a deep breath. Does he need emergency help? No? Good. I'm about an hour away, provided traffic doesn't have other plans. Did you call Maes?" He listened to her rattle on a moment longer, nodding as he did. "Okay, call him as soon as you get off with me." He listened a moment more, relieved that she was starting to calm down. "No, don't try to move him yourself, are you nuts? I know how heavy he is. Just make him comfortable until Maes gets there. I'm on my way."

He ended the call and sighed. _Damn her and her pet shadows_, he thought. He'd never seen these things himself, but he knew that anytime she saw them, trouble loomed ahead. From the sound of things, it looked like this time trouble was bringing the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse with it.

0o0o0o

Hughes had barely thrown the car into park and yanked the keys out of the ignition when he was out and jogging up the steps into Reilly's house. For once, he didn't bother to knock first. What he saw as soon as he barged in brought him up short.

Reilly was sitting on the floor with Ed's head in her lap and his eyes were closed. He looked for all the world like he was just asleep. Or… dead. _He's too pale_, he thought.

The living room was a shambles. It looked like a tornado had hit and selectively tossed papers and books around, but ignored the lamp and some of the nick-nacks. The worst damage was around the desk, where scorch-marks etched the wood floor in trails that led from Ed to the computer. There were charred bits of black plastic hanging from the tower and a bit melted to Ed's right wrist from the static band. The tower was a warped, scorched mess and the monitor was destroyed. _The amount of heat that was needed to generate that had to be enormous_, Hughes thought. _Amazing the whole house didn't go up._

There were also scorch-marks all over Ed's automail and the arm still showed the short sword. _He was out before he could transmute it back_, Hughes realized with a shock.

Reilly looked up as he knelt on the boy's other side. Her eyes stricken, dried trails down her cheeks from shed tears. "He's in and out," she said. "Keeps asking about Al."

"Naturally."

Ed's eyes slid open and wobbled as he searched for the source of the familiar voice. "H-ughes?"

"I'm right here, Ed. Don't talk."

"Al…"

"We're still looking for him." Hughes scooped Ed into his arms and was stunned at how limp the boy was. "I'm going to get you on the couch, okay?"

Ed swallowed, but it looked like it was taking more effort than it should. "N-numb."

"I'll bet. You look like you took quite a jolt."

After he got Ed settled on the couch, he gripped Reilly by the elbow and hastily escorted her through the kitchen and out the back door. Far enough away so as not to disturb Ed, but close enough, with the door still open, to hear if he needed anything. "Okay, what in the Holy Hell happened in there?"

She pulled free of his grip and sagged down onto the steps. Wrapping her arms about herself and staring down at the ground, she told him about the shadows showing up at work and what she thought had happened at home. Then she went back and told him about the first time Ed encountered them. She spoke softly and Hughes could hear the tinge of shame in her voice. Her lips were pulled down in a deep frown and her eyes were unseeing. She looked like she was hovering on the edge of shock.

When she finished, he stared down at her for a long, silent moment. He wanted to be angry at her. For not informing him that his friend was in danger, for not telling him what these things were before he had to deal with a limp teenager that may or may not come out of this. _God I hope he comes out of this_, he thought.

Even as he thought that, he knew he would. As he'd laid Ed down on the couch, some movement was coming back, some sense of feeling. Ed had complained that he was starting to tingle.

Hughes wanted to be pissed at Reilly, but he couldn't. She was already beating herself up as it was; there was no point in adding to it. He took a few steps away from her and ran agitated fingers through his hair. "He can't be alone now. You know that, right?"

He faced her again, and pointed into the house. "If those… things… are some harbinger of doom and they're targeting Ed, he can't be alone."

Reilly nodded.

Hughes sighed. "I hate to add more grist to the rumor mill, but I'm moving in."

Reilly's brows disappeared into her bangs.

Hughes shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin. "I live in a tiny efficiency apartment that wouldn't let me cuss out a cat without getting fur in my mouth. Besides, for now it's better to keep Ed away from overly curious eyes." He knelt down in front of her and laid a hand on her knee. "It's only temporary. As soon as we find Al, the three of us will get out of your hair."

"Maes, I—"

Hughes laid a finger over her lips. "I've been doing my own snooping around, Reilly. I've got a strong suspicion that the trouble that's about to come down on our heads is somehow connected to Ed, Al and I. If we go, that trouble will follow us and leave you alone."

"I know too much, Maes," she stated bluntly.

"Yeah, well… I'm not killing you, so forget it."

Reilly laughed softly and dropped her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace. There was no voice laying guilt on him this time; this was friendship.

The phone rang inside the house, but they ignored it for the moment, both somewhere in their own thoughts. Then Ducky's voice filtered through on the answering machine. "_Reilly! Check your email dammit! I hit the Goddamned jackpot!_" He ended the message with a psychotic laugh. The instant Ducky hung up there was a dull thud from the living room.

Hughes and Reilly stared at each other wide-eyed, then it was a scramble to see who would get in the door first.

They found Ed sitting on the floor with his back against the couch and drunkenly listing to port. His left hand was barely holding him up and he was waving the right around in an attempt to get some sort of balance; and he still hadn't transmuted the arm back to normal. "Al," he slurred. "Iss Al."

Hughes knelt down and caught Ed's right arm by the wrist in an effort to avoid being skewered, while trying to help him back upright. "Easy Ed. You need to get some rest, you're hurt."

Ed blinked and tried to focus, but failed miserably. "Issal. D'cky f-found Al."

"I know," Hughes said.

Reilly disappeared, then came back into the living room a moment later with her laptop in hand. She flopped down on the floor on Ed's left side and the boy slid over with his head on her shoulder.

Hughes gave up trying to wrestle him back onto the couch and sat down on his other side.

It had never seemed to take so long to get a laptop to power up before, and it seemed to take even longer for the internet connection to be made… and it was an eternity before all of Reilly's emails loaded. But finally, amidst all the spam for home loans and penis enlargements, was a solitary email from _TheDuckLord_.

**Subject**: Trifecta

_Tell Terminator all three bets paid off. Will be able to collect from a walking wall named Ray. Some Men in Black want a cut from the pot, but the wall buried the treasure. Can get more info here: La Vista, Baby!_

"Alssssafe," Ed mumbled, then fell asleep on Reilly's shoulder with a smile on his face.


	14. Ch 13 Can the Sheep Come Too?

"**Can the Sheep Come, Too?"**

**Arc One; Chapter Thirteen**

**Balance of Power**

**May 27, 2006 – 9:41pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

By the time Tom reached the northern city limits of Tulsa, he'd already decided that he needed to have a serious talk with Reilly. When he reached Bartlesville thirty minutes later, he'd pretty much worked out the argument he was going to present. About the time he pulled into her drive, he'd screwed up the courage to deliver said argument in as gentle a manner as possible while being completely honest.

He turned off the ignition and sighed. He really didn't want to have this talk with her, but sometimes she needed to be reminded that she just couldn't fix the past; no matter how much she wanted to.

0o0o0

"You're doing it again," Tom said as he leaned on the garden gate.

Reilly was sitting on the bench with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them. He never knew how a woman with her build could fold her self up so tightly, but it was a clear sign of just how distressed she was. _This doesn't make it any easier_, he thought.

"Wearing our 'Father Knows Best' hat, I see."

With a frustrated groan, Tom entered the garden and settled on the far end of the bench from her. He shook a cigarette out of his pack and offered it to her. She took it, and he shook another out for himself. It was a long-standing ritual between them that he silently admitted he'd missed when she'd quit smoking for a year.

They smoked in silence for a bit, he leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and she with her feet up and her arms wrapped around hers. When he finally ground the butt out under his heel he decided it was time.

"What are you going to do when they're all together again and ready to move on without you?"

She shrugged.

_Great, she's not about to make this easy. I suppose I should've expected that. I don't want to do this, but…_

"Reilly, do you think Maes is going to eventually come around and fall head over heels for you?"

She gave him a one-eyed glare at that.

"The man's been on this side of the gate for four years and he still wears his wedding ring." He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "Look, he's been alone and lonely, living under an assumed name and a phony persona. All of a sudden, someone he cares for shows back up in his life in the most improbable manner ever. He meets the protector of this person and is suddenly able to be himself. No pseudonyms, no lies. He can relax here. He's perfectly healthy and has needs that haven't been met. What the fuck did you think was going to happen?"

"I'm well aware that Hughes still thinks of himself as a married man, Tom."

"But do you understand he'll _always_ think of himself that way? What happened the other night was a moment of weakness. Not attraction."

"Gee thanks," she sneered. "It's nice to know my best friend can be honest enough to remind me of just how unattractive I am."

Tom just looked at her blandly. "Nice try. Now you wanna hop down off your little pity-pot and listen for once?"

She looked away, but not before he saw the stubbornness settle in her eyes, and the tenseness of her jaw. "Okay. So I'll just prattle on and maybe something I say will sink into that brick wall you call a head."

"Hello pot, meet kettle."

"Yup, which is why I can ream your ass like this." He leaned further forward and carded his fingers through his hair. "Reilly, you're running at cross-purposes with yourself here and you're the one who'll end up being hurt. You can't just attach yourself to people like this."

"You and Ducky are helping them, too."

"We're treating them like new friends. You're treating them like family."

When he got no response from her on that for a long moment, he decided to try a different tactic. "Do you think Maes would have ever left his wife and daughter if he'd had a choice?"

"Of course not."

"That kind of devotion is very attractive, isn't it?" He could feel her tense next to him. He knew this was going to hurt, but he had to do it. "Add to that, he was a career military man. In Intelligence on top of that."

"How positively… Freudian of you."

Tom chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. "Oh, no. The only thing your father has in common with Maes Hughes is the military career in Intelligence. A devoted family man he was not."

"He did what he had to do."

"He did what he did because he was a fucking coward, Reilly."

Her head snapped up and he felt the heat from her glare. _God, I hate doing this_, he thought.

"I can't believe you're saying this about someone who was once your dearest friend," she whispered and he could hear the trembling in her voice.

"It's because Cecil was my best friend that I can say these things." He met her glare with his calm gaze. "He was one of the best intelligence officers in the Air Force, and one hell of a cop. But he failed miserably when it came to being responsible for his sick wife and only daughter."

Reilly snapped to her feet and strode as far as the koi pond. He could see the hurt she was feeling displayed eloquently in her back. "He had to take those overseas postings, Tom. You know that. The money was better. It paid for the nurse."

"Bullshit," Tom whispered and it sounded like a shout. "He took them because he couldn't deal with the responsibility."

"He doted on Mom when he was home and he spoiled me rotten."

Tom got to his feet and came up behind her. "_When_ he was home. How long was that? Two weeks? A month at a time? And when he was forced to retire… when your mother died? He worked _nights_. He was never really home when you were." He gently laid his hands on his shoulders and said, "Reilly, even if your mother had been perfectly healthy, he would have done everything the exact same way. He would've still been gone all the time."

He gently turned her to face him. "You can't fix the past. You can't turn Maes into an idealized version of your father, and you can't replace the mother _you_ never had by being one for Ed."

"Bastard."

"That's what my mother says, too. For years I thought that was my first name."

The gentle teasing didn't work this time. She jerked away from him and started for the garden gate. Tom was quicker though and intercepted her. "Uh-uh. Not this time you're not."

She pointed at the house and said, "They don't belong here, Tom. They're out of place and out of time. Is it so damned wrong to offer friendship to them? To give them someplace where they can be accepted as exactly who they are?"

Tom shook his head. "Nope. As long as that's all you're doing. But I know you better than that. You attach yourself to people you think are lost and wounded." He grasped her shoulders and looked hard at her. "Ed's mother is dead and gone, he doesn't want another one. Maes' family is on the other side of that gate and he doesn't need a replacement. Stop trying to fix people who aren't broken. And stop trying to fix your past through them."

She balled her fists stiffly at her sides and looked down. Her face was effectively hidden by the wild curls and the shadows cast from the torches, but Tom could see her shaking in fury. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I realize that my '_attachment_' is what caused the shadows to attack Ed?" She choked and her voice became thicker. "Are you going to twist the knife even more, Tom?"

He sighed and rubbed his face. "Do you really think I'm saying this just to hurt you? Do you really think that after all these years I'd do that?"

He reached out and tilted her chin up. Tried to make her look him in the eyes, but she refused. "Whatever's looming on the horizon isn't your concern, Reilly. You need to back off a little before someone is really hurt," he said.

He saw the slight tensing of her jaw and the flare of her nostrils, and his little internal alarms started screaming for attention. There was something about the quality of her silence and the way she refused to meet his eyes…

_How could I have missed it_? He thought when realization hit him in the gut.

Two years ago, Reilly had a good job at a small private school teaching ancient history. Even after Cecil died and she discovered he'd made some canny investments, she continued to teach. She loved it and the kids seemed to love her. Paranormal research, leylines and the gates were a hobby. They didn't consume her.

Then she had a bad relationship that didn't just turn messy, it got positively ugly. Her reputation was destroyed, she lost her job and her credibility… and the worst part of all, the bastard had made her think of herself as a freak.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as just moving on to another job. The private school community was a small one and filled with people for whom image was everything. Everyone knew everyone else and rumors flew. The harassment she received from the other teachers was bad enough, but it spread to the parents and the kids. It was horrific.

Tom had assumed that she'd moved out to the sticks to take some time and lick her wounds. He never realized that she came here to find a way to escape entirely.

Tom gripped her chin tight and jerked her head to make her look at him. "It's not just the shadows. You're counting on Ed to open a gate, aren't you?"

She looked down and he saw her blink away threatening tears.

"Which is it? Legitimizing your research?" He choked on the other possibility. "Or are you planning to follow them?"

She jerked away and turned her back to him. He watched as she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to control her emotions. He felt like his heart had been twisted into a knot then drop-kicked into the next county.

"I never thought I'd see you run away from a fight, Mary Reilly," he said softly.

"You're reading too much into this, Tom. Legitimize my research, yes. In as far as I can without risking Ed." She glanced back at him over her shoulder and raised a brow. "But cross over with them?" She shrugged. "I wouldn't belong there any more than they belong here." She looked away from him again.

Tom stared at her back for a long moment. He knew she was lying, but if he pressed her she'd only shut him out, then do it just to show she could. There was nothing he could say that would make her change her mind, because Reilly on a stubborn streak was as difficult to crack as a bank vault on a timer. It wasn't impossible, he just had to use more finesse.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Okay. I'll take your word that you're not planning to cross over with them."

_That's it, Tom, twist it a little more, because you know that Reilly giving her word on something is set in stone, and she'll damn near kill herself to keep it,_ he thought. _Never mind that she didn't actually give her word; you're going to force it out of her. _

_Sometimes you can be a bastard. _

0o0o0

**May 28 2006, 1:20 a.m.**

**Heist wrote: **

_So. I'm back. And you people have been silent as the grave. THE GRAVE, I say! (Not that that's a bad thing, I prefer my graves silent. DON'T ask, bad experience.) Survived Mandar. Barely. I have some cool new info though, if anyone feels like coming back to life and asking for it. _

_I'm waiting…_

_----_

…_.I got nothin'…_

_---------------------_

**May 28 2006, 1:42 a.m.**

**The DuckLord wrote: **

_it's about time, girl. i missed you. but i missed chinese food too. i'm hallucinating szechuan chicken. but seriously, you, like, died. no net conn? i'm stranded in wichita still, but at least i gotta conn. _

_btw, hospital mainframe was totally assraped and i'm here longer than i wanna be. i am disliking you in a sigg way. i mean it H. _

_----_

_work n coffee OD_

_---------------------_

**May 28 2006, 2:11 a.m.**

**Heist wrote: **

_I love you too, Tuckandroll. _

_----_

_Still nothing. Road trip redux! _

_---------------------_

0o0o0

**May 28, 2006 – 6:59am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Hughes stumbled into the living room half-asleep and in search of that rich, black elixir of the Gods when he caught movement from a light-colored blur out of one eye. He stopped stumbling, stopped rubbing one eye and slipped his glasses on. "Ed?"

The diminutive blonde was struggling to stay upright on the couch and was twitching all over… literally. "Need up," he mumbled, still half-asleep himself, and jabbed his right hand out.

Hughes lurched back, then realized that Ed had returned the arm back to normal sometime in the night. "Maybe you should stay put," he said. "At least until you stop shaking so much."

Ed squeezed one eye shut in an effort to focus with the other one and scowled up at Hughes. "I don't think Reilly would appreciate it."

The older man's sleep-addled brain refused to process the cryptic comment right away. "Why would she care if you—" At that moment, certain bits of information went around his brain and started switching on the lights. "—Oooh!" He lunged forward and grabbed Ed's hand to pull him up.

After a precarious moment when it didn't appear that the left leg was going to play well with the right, Hughes finally managed to get Ed somewhat stabilized by wrapping his arm around the boy's waist.

Ed scowled at the man's collarbone, then fingered the front of his pajama top with the rise of a bemused brow and a smirk. "Hughes. Ducks?"

He batted Ed's hand away. "Don't knock the pajamas, kid. I happen to like ducks."

Ed just snorted and attempted to pull away from the other man's support. "You sure you don't want me to help you?" Hughes asked.

"I'm not a complete invalid, dammit," Ed grumbled.

Hughes reluctantly let go. He watched as Ed took a couple of wobbly steps with his arms out like he was walking a tightrope. The boy was shaking like a drunk with the DTs and Hughes was certain signals were going to get crossed and he'd be on the floor before he came anywhere near the bathroom. He also knew that the boy's stubbornness wouldn't allow him to ask for help beyond being pulled up off the couch. So he remained rooted to the spot waiting to swoop in if Ed collapsed whether he wanted him to or not.

It took him longer than it would have taken a 90 year old man to get to the entry of the hall, but he made it upright and even managed to cast an arrogant smirk back over his shoulder at Hughes. The older man crossed his arms and just waited. There were only about four more feet to go and Ed could lean on the wall if need be, but he hadn't reached the goal yet.

About a minute passed after Ed flopped around the corner, leaning heavily against the wall as he did, Hughes heard the thump, a slide and a muttered oath. In no real hurry, he sauntered up to the hall entry and leaned around the corner to look.

Ed was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, and trying to still an automail leg that was jumping around like it was being zapped all over again. "Ed—"

"No!" he said through gritted teeth. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was stretched tight in a grimace. "I don't need help," he gasped. "It's… like when your foot falls asleep. Just all the way up." He took a couple more panting breaths as Hughes knelt down next to him. "Just give me a minute."

Suddenly, Ed's face colored and he gave Hughes a sheepish grin. "Er… maybe you'd better help me up, after all."

Hughes chuckled, helped Ed back to his feet and as far as the bathroom door. At that point neither man was willing to budge. Fortunately they agreed that even if Ed ended up crawling, he could handle the rest all on his own.

0o0o0

Ed flopped back down on the couch after what felt like a ten mile march through loose sand to get back there. The painful tingling and twitching was gradually going away and gross motor functions were retuning enough for him to stay on his feet, but the fine motor skills needed for brushing his teeth or hair were still mulishly refusing to obey his commands; which only meant that he was feeling another form of twitchiness altogether.

He could hear Hughes rattling around in the kitchen and the rich aroma of fresh coffee tickled his nostrils. "Bring me a cup of that when it's ready," he called.

All of a sudden, he started to lose his balance and clawed desperately at the arm of the couch to keep from tumbling off. Once he was certain he wasn't going to be eating hardwood floor again, he turned and glared at the cause of his near-toppling.

Reilly was perched on the other end of the couch, her legs folded up and crossed, and she had a huge grin. "Oops?"

"Oops my ass. You tryin' to kill me?"

Reilly smirked and nudged Ed in the shoulder, which nearly toppled him over again and earned her a withering look. "How're you feeling?" she asked, unfazed at the look.

Ed managed to stabilize in an upright position. "Other than my entire body tingling, not being able to move worth a shit, and an old hag who's determined to make my life miserable… just peachy."

"Great," she said. "Can you turn around?"

He gave her a wary look and she held up a brush. He started to protest, but he caught something in her eyes that changed his mind. His prickly mood disappeared when he realized she was carrying the guilt for his accident last night.

"This wasn't your fault," he said softly.

She gave him a sad smile and said, "Just turn around."

After a couple of false starts, Ed managed to get settled sideways on the couch and held on to the back of it like his life depended on it. Reilly gently untangled the hair-tie and he felt the brush against his scalp. He'd never come right out an admit it, but having his hair brushed was soothing. Before long, he felt the mental twitchiness begin to fade and not long after, the physical twitchiness followed.

"Hey Reilly," he said from somewhere off in the blanket of pure sensual pleasure that was wrapping around him.

"Hmmm?"

"Sorry about your computer."

He felt the bush stop moving and he almost whimpered at the loss. "It's just a thing, Ed. It can be replaced. Friends can't."

He smiled then, partly because Reilly had started brushing his hair again and partly because of what she said. It wasn't long before he just stopped thinking anything and simply enjoyed the attention.

The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the perfumed air of an early spring morning that rode on the breezes through the open windows. Hughes was still shuffling around in the kitchen and the sound was a soothing accompaniment to the songbirds right outside. Al was located and safe. For this one moment, everything was right with Edward Elric's world. His eyes slid shut and a slow smile spread across his face.

"Ed?" he heard Hughes say, but he barely registered the voice. "Are you… _purring_?"

Ed opened one eye and rolled it toward where the voice came from. He almost snarled at having his lovely meditative state ruined, but then he saw the extra cup of coffee in the man's hand. He started to lunge for it, but was hampered by a strong pull at the back of his head. "Ow!"

"Hold still," Reilly said. "I'm almost done. There."

He felt his hair fall against the back of his neck as the pulling ended. He squirmed back into the right position on the couch and reached out for the cup of coffee.

"How're your hands?" Hughes asked.

Ed held them out and showed him there was very little twitching anymore. Satisfied, Hughes gave him the cup and Ed thought he might be in heaven as he breathed in the scent of the second most important thing in the universe… at least at this time of day.

"Hughes," Reilly said as he handed her the other cup. "Ducks?"

Ed nearly snorted hot coffee up his nose in an effort to suppress the snicker.

0o0o0

"Reilly!" Ed's plaintive voice called from the living room for probably the hundredth time in the past thirty minutes.

She and Hughes were sitting at the table, drinking coffee and discussing what to do if she and Ed needed to run. Contact numbers were passed back and forth, along with possible meeting places. At the same time, she was sitting with her laptop open in front of her, absently surfing the net and checking Ed's new gmail account every few minutes.

That had been an adventure in itself. Reilly set up the account and every address Ed had wanted at first was already used. There was a moment of trepidation when he got this –Reilly couldn't think of another word to describe it-- evil gleam in his eye and said, "Useless when wet."

Hughes nearly fell over with laughter.

Reilly didn't get the joke, but with the username _Glorified Lighter with Gloves_ was created. This was something else that sent Hughes into paroxysms of laughter and for which Reilly despaired of understanding.

Instead, she watched as Hughes took dictation and argued with Ed about what information to put in the email and just how to phrase it. Ed wanted to fill it up with commentary on the food, soymilk (which got a stunned look from Hughes), and a million little bits of trivia. Hughes however, was balking at that idea. "You'll be seeing him in a few days, Ed. You can tell him all this then. All you need to do is let him know you got his message and that you're safe."

"He won't believe it was from me, if I do that."

So they compromised. Sort of.

_Al,_

_I'm so glad you're safe. If you'd gotten hurt badly I'd have to kill you myself, you know. I'm with a good group of people; Ducky, that computer guy, got this address to me, so I guess he's good for something. Reilly is the one who found me when I came through the Gate, and she's letting me use her computer right now. And you're not going to believe who's typing this e-mail for me._

_Remember when we found out that Hughes died?_

_That info was wrong. _

"Are you sure it's a good idea to tell Al that I'm alive this way?" Hughes asked.

"Hell yes! Then he'll be ready for you and your hug-attack. Jeeze, you're as bad as Armstrong now."

Hughes gave the boy a cagy grin. "Would you rather I be like Roy and tease you about your height?"

Ed glared but the expected explosion never surfaced. Reilly wondered if it was only because movement for Ed was still a bit tricky and thought Hughes might need to watch his back later.

_That's just a heads-up since I know he's going to absolutely crush you with hugs once we get you back. I'll explain how he got here once we have more time, and I don't have to dictate this thing._

_We're going to plan a rescue mission as soon as Ducky gets back. Lay low until then and act normal, and inform the Walking Wall that we'll be coming soon._

_We'll see each other soon, Al. I know it._

_-Ed_

"No," she said. "You don't have an answer yet."

Ed growled in frustration and Hughes just chuckled. Reilly pointed in the general direction of the living room and asked, "How has he managed to avoid a stroke so far?"

0o0o0

**9:44am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Al blinked to clear his vision; almost certain he hadn't seen that correctly.

The little link was still there, mocking him.

It had been quite awhile since Eugene had set him up with an e-mail address, and he faithfully checked it every day when he and Gene got their computer time. He'd never really gotten anything interesting, but Eugene had e-mailed him a few times to get him to smile, or to send him a link or picture. There was one picture of a fuzzy cat that Al wished he could cuddle saved in one e-mail and Al had only to open that e-mail to be able to grin like a loon. Even Ray had gotten into the act, e-mailing cute little stories or pictures to his patient from home.

But now there was an e-mail sitting in his inbox, with a name he had to blink at a few more times.

_Glorified Lighter with Gloves. _

Al couldn't help it; a giggle started traveling up his throat and he had to cough to cover it as Gene gave him a weird look. "Did Ray send you another joke?" he asked, making as if to lean over.

Al hurriedly covered the screen with his hand. "No, no, it's nothing."

Gene gave Al a weird look, then rolled his eyes and went to typing on his blog again. Breathing a sigh of relief, Al turned back to his screen and clicked the link.

It wasn't very long, and it certainly wasn't in the style he was used to seeing from his brother's reports and journals, but it was unmistakably Ed. Al could practically hear his voice as he read the words.

Then he stopped breathing for several seconds when he came across the news of Hughes still being alive. He let those incredible words stew in his head for several moments, then an almost-manic grin spread across his face and he unconsciously began to bounce in his seat with excitement as he went back to the e-mail.

Al read it one more time. He told himself it was to make sure he was reading it right, but that wasn't entirely true. It was as close to his brother as he'd gotten since his arrival and now he knew that Ed was going to make everything all right. He grinned and clicked the reply button just as Gene had taught him. Extending his good hand over the keyboard, he painstakingly began a one-handed reply.

_Ed,_

_I can't believe you finally found me! And you'd better explain why Hughes is here when you come get me, or I may have to kick your ass... again._

_I'll be sure to inform Ray of the plans, but since I kind of have a broken arm right now, this is hard to type. I'll be sure to e-mail you tomorrow, though._

_Love you, Brother. Take care of yourself; I'm not there to do it, after all. See you soon._

_-Al_

His cursor hovered over the 'send' button, hesitating. Something was missing. Something that would tell his brother that yes, the email was most definitely from him. He grinned even wider and added one last thing.

_PS- If those people are taking care of you, try not to be a jerk to them. _

Al sent the message and leaned back, grinning like an absolute idiot. He almost didn't hear Ray knock on the door. "Hello, my loyal geeky minions! It's time to log off for the day!"

Al only vaguely noticed as Gene stuck his tongue out at the nurse. "I'm not your minion. But I've got a question for you."

Al happily began logging out, humming to himself.

"Shoot," Ray said.

"Did you slip happy drugs into Tiger's cereal this morning? He's acting higher than a kite."

Al gawked at Gene, then grinned widely at Ray. "Ducky."

Ray blinked at the name, then smirked. "Awesome."

Al felt bad as Gene stared at them both for several moments, then went back to logging off with a huff. "You're both weird."

0o0o0

**10:22am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

"Reilly?" Ed said… _again_. The tingling and twitchiness had faded enough that Ed could move without fear of intimate relations with the floor, which only meant that he was now nagging at Reilly to check his email every twenty seconds from right next to her at the table.

She groaned and covered her face. She also privately cursed Hughes for finding this all very amusing. "No answer, Ed."

"You didn't even look."

She glared.

Ed just rested his chin on his arms on the table and gave her a wonderful imitation of a begging puppy.

Reilly growled.

Ed's brows climbed up and he smiled sweetly.

Reilly groaned.

Ed tilted his head to the side and somehow managed to make the 'cute puppy' look even harder to resist.

Reilly sighed and closed her eyes in defeat. "I hate you with a passion, Edward Elric," she said as she opened her eyes and checked his email again.

She heard two wicked snickers as she refreshed the page and saw a new email come in. "I hate you too, Hughes."

"Hey, I'm just relieved he isn't using that on me. I'm impressed you could resist as long as you did."

She just gave him a dirty look and spun the laptop toward Ed. The blond let out an excited squeak and practically pounced on the computer to get at the message.

He scanned it quickly and shouted, "YES!" And instant later his grin disappeared and a scowl replaced it. "His arm's broken!"

"He _was_ hit by a car, Ed," Hughes said.

"Yeah but… Dammit, if he's hurt worse than that, I'm gonna kill him."

Reilly looked from Hughes to Ed and back. "The logic of that just escapes me completely."

"PS, don't be a jerk?" Ed said. "Forget what I just said. I'm killing him anyway."

Hughes snickered into his coffee. "Ahhh, brotherly love."

"Makes me glad I was an only child," Reilly said.

0o0o0

**12:45pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Ducky leaned back in his chair and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He was a computer jockey of the highest caliber, but not even he could stare at a screen full of tangled codes for hours at a time without a break. He let his arms drop to hang over the sides of his chair, and his mind drifted for a while as the music selection changed over from Rammstein to the more melodic VNV Nation. It was the closest thing he'd had to a break all day, and he was well on his way to stealing a fantastic catnap when his nose picked up the faintest hint of Chinese food in the main office. More specifically, Canton and Szechuan, if his sense of smell hadn't betrayed him.

Without opening his eyes, he turned the volume down on his headphones. "I will give thirty dollars to whoever has the Chinese if I can buy your Chernobyl chicken."

"If you insist…" a voice beyond his headphones said in an extremely familiar, but rather unlikely voice.

_The hell_? Ducky opened his eyes and jerked away from the face that hovered mere inches above his. Unfortunately, the motion overbalanced his precarious position and sent him sprawling to the floor.

"Holy _hell_fuck, Heist! You almost killed me!"

She only crossed her arms and gave him a manic grin—in short, the usual for Heist. Ducky watched her from the floor as she casually strolled around his tangled limbs and settled into his newly vacated chair; same worn out combat boots, nondescript jeans and t-shirt, and chunky glasses over hazel eyes. And on top of that…

"H," he said slowly, "your hair is blue."

She shrugged. "I got tired of the purple. It didn't go with anything, except…" she got a thoughtful look on her face, "possibly, that affront to the eyes you call a shirt." It was an insult, but the wicked smile remained.

"It's good to see you, Hellspawn."

"Likewise, Tuckandroll." She helped pull him off the floor and started to dust him off, then held up a glorious smelling brown paper bag. "You up for a lunch break?"

Ducky shrugged and tried to act nonchalant, but the aroma coming out of the bag was beginning to overpower his better sense. "Depends on what the boss-man says. I wanna say it's a definite maybe."

Heist blinked, and turned in the direction of the project director. "Brian!" she bellowed. "I'm kidnapping Ducky for lunch!"

The man jolted from his seat, winced in her direction and shrugged. "Whatever, Hel—"

"Finish that name and I will make sure you never reproduce again."

"Bring him back in two hours."

Ducky gaped at her as she smiled like a smug, self-satisfied cat. "Remind me never to piss you off. You are evil."

"Nope! I just like getting what I want in as quick and efficient a manner as possible."

As it turned out, "as quick and efficient a manner as possible" turned into her dragging Ducky out of the hospital and across the street to a park with tables, benches, and conveniently placed shade trees. Heist broke out the Chinese food, and for an hour, all was right in Ducky's universe.

"You didn't have to do all this, H. You coulda called and I would've met you halfway," Ducky said as he speared a piece of kung pao chicken.

Heist stopped rummaging through her lo mein with her chopsticks and stared at him. "Call you? You want to rethink that statement, Tuckandroll?"

Ducky winced. Heist's phone skills were less than stellar. "If you'd slow down for half a minute so I could understand you…"

"And I keep telling you, I don't like phones. I like to minimize my pain, thank you very much. I mean, gah!" She threw her arms over her head, and Ducky watched as her chopsticks flew off into the wild blue yonder.

"Roadtrip less than fun, H?" he snickered.

"Mandar was on the phone with her boyfriend or whatever the entire time we were on the road. 'Jamie, I miss you.' 'Jamie, I'm doing a research project and I want to talk about it for half an hour.' 'Jamie, will you be the Scully to my Mulder?' Stupid shit like that. It was phone agony by proxy!"

Ducky couldn't help himself from laughing. He was aware of Mandar from Heist's many stories of her college roommate before she was kicked out, and he'd managed to avoid ever meeting the girl. It didn't sound like a good idea at all.

"Shove it, Tuckandroll," Heist pouted, and threw a fortune cookie at him. "It's not like anything less annoying happened to you. You looked like you were moments away from hitting your expiration date in there."

"Hey!" Ducky protested. "It hasn't been completely boring. Last night I found the Terminator's kid brother, Al." He expected that to break Heist's ranting streak, hopefully with a _"WTF, mate?"_ -style double take. She had only just started on it, but she could go for hours. He'd timed her before.

Heist wasn't fazed. "Terminator? Isn't that that one kid who—"

"Ed?" Ducky interrupted. He was not going to dwell on the loss of his Gamer Godliness if he had anything to say about it. "He's not much of a kid, H. He's the same age as you are. You'd probably get along rather well, you both give grief to everyone you know."

"Sounds like fun. You got a name, number, address and SS number I can investigate?"

Ducky laughed again. "The day you can find Edward Elric in the system is the day I declare you the supreme goddess of the universe and beg you to marry me."

Heist rolled her eyes. "So, in short, the day hell freezes over, gravity ceases to exist and the natural order is turned inside out. I love you Ducks, but you're like _family_."

Ducky sighed melodramatically. "But just think of how happy our mothers would be…"

"Whatever, you maniac." Heist reached over and tugged on his hair. "What's your fortune say?"

He shrugged and began to slowly, painstakingly open the wrapper. He was certain the wait would drive Heist insane, but it wasn't ten seconds before she snatched it from his grip, cracked it open and pulled out the slip of paper. Amused, Ducky leaned back as she cleared her throat and tried to look dignified.

"Ahem. Prepare yourself for great wisdom!" she intoned, and collapsed into giggles. When Ducky held out his hand for the fortune, she waved him away. "Wait a min, I can do this. Okay, your fortune is…" Her eyes widened behind her glasses, and a look of extreme puzzlement crossed her face. "_'Your fortune is coming!'_ What kind of fucked up fortune is that?"

"Maybe I'll finally be given the salary I deserve," Ducky mused.

"And if by deserve you mean a buck an hour and a can of botulism beans, I'm all for it." She hopped off the table-bench and took a bow. "Well Tuckandroll, I've got to go. Mom wants me back in time to help with dinner. The neighbors are coming over."

"Which neighbors? The ones with the son who goes to MIT?" Ducky asked with an evil grin. "Or the ones who have to pray in your presence?"

Heist took on a stricken look and made a sign of the cross. "'Saints preserve me!'" she cried in an exaggerated voice. "'Anna Palacek, that daughter of yours will be the death of me!' You were right in two. It's the Magnificent Haddens, deigning to dine with our poor unfortunate souls."

Ducky hissed in sympathy. "Where's your car? I'll walk you there, commiserate about the über-devout banes of our existence. You've met Mrs. Buttinski, right…?"

They made it to the parking space without incident, though Ducky had to take a moment to stand back and survey the mess Heist called a car. "H? This heap doesn't still run, does it?"

She nodded and looked pained. "Don Carlos moves when he feels like it, and only when I ask nicely. You want to help me hotwire him? I just got him back from the mechanics and they put in some different wires. I can't make heads or tails of it."

Ducky reluctantly agreed, and inside of five minutes the engine came sputtering to life. "That doesn't sound healthy," he said under the hood. "You have this sick puppy on life support as it is. You're gonna need to find a new ride soon, because this is on its happy way to a _Break Down_."

Inside the car, Heist grimaced. "I know. He up and died in New Mexico, thirty miles outside of Roswell. Sucked!"

Ducky closed the hood. "I don't wanna know, H. I have enough to worry about without worrying about your sorry ass."

"I love you too, Tuckandroll."

"See you around, Hellspawn."

Heist pulled out of the parking lot, and Ducky was halfway back to the hospital when he heard the squeal of tires rapidly approaching. He turned and dove out of the way just as Heist's car backed up and came to a shuddering halt.

"Nice form, Tuckandroll! It's always a pleasure to see you live up to your name!"

Ducky dusted his shirt off and leaned into her window. "Heist…"

"I forgot! I've got the info from my road trip, and I thought Reilly might like to see it. It's all the leyline data I picked up. You want to pass it along?" She tossed a CD case in his direction, shifted gears and stepped on the gas.

"Later, Ducks!" she called out the window.

Ducky watched her car until it disappeared from view, and looked down at the disk in his hands. "So long, Heist."

0o0o0

**2:10pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

This was the third time this week for paperwork from Social Services and Heather Breach was just about sick of it.

Goodson had yet to let go of the fact Tiger wasn't 'well' enough to be put in a foster home. She was facing yet another inquiry into his state of mind and it was really getting on her nerves. It especially annoyed her that she was forced to work on it while on her breaks. _God, does red tape breed?_ She wondered. _These stupid forms and inquiries seem to be getting longer each time they're sent to us. _

Heather looked up from the mysteriously multiplying forms when she heard footsteps approaching, and sighed as she spotted Ray. "Just so you know, Social Services can be really evil sometimes." She waved the report at him. "They want to know how Tiger's doing. _Again_."

She blinked as Ray gave her a sharp, almost predatory grin. "Then you'll be glad to hear what I found out this morning."

That caught her attention. "Something about Tiger?"

Ray nodded and took a quick glance around the break room. Nothing had changed since he'd strolled in ten seconds ago. They were still the only two people in there at the moment. Something she was grateful for considering how suspicious Ray was acting.

He leaned in to whisper into Heather's ear. "His brother's on the way."

Heather felt the frown on her face mutate into a smirk. "Score. Do you know when?"

She scooted over to let Ray sit at the table. "Not yet, but his brother's going to e-mail him the specs. All we have to do is be sure they can pull it off."

Heather nodded. "Know what that means, right?"

"Long shift for me, whee."

"For both of us."

"Yeah, true." Ray ruffled Heather's hair, making her glare at the man.

"Knock it off, or I'll tell Kaupt you've got the hots for him."

"That's an empty threat and one I can toss right back." The large nurse smiled. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. It's almost time for Tiger and Gene to get out of therapy."

Heather smiled. "They're really starting to become friends, aren't they?"

"Yeah, it's bringing Gene out of his shell, which is awesome." Ray grinned. "Tiger's doing a lot of good in neo-natal, too. The nurses up there think he's the sole reason little Brian got to the point he could be adopted, with all the time he spends holding those babies."

Her eyebrow raised. "Really? He's really that good with them, huh?"

"Absolutely." Ray waved and turned for physical therapy. "Catch you later, Breach."

Smiling again, Heather turned back to her paperwork. _Almost home free._

0o0o0

**9:31pm**

**Kansas City, Missouri**

Dinner had been horrifying. Mrs. Hadden had done nothing but mutter prayers every time Heist entered the room, and her parents had done nothing but humor her. Typical. She would never understand why her mother liked the evil old woman, and it hadn't been a moment too soon when she was able to retreat to the safety of her room.

Her cell had finally finished charging, and she glared at it. Important call or not, she still didn't like the idea. Finally, she gave up her standoff with the phone and dialed the number. While she waited for the other end to pick up, she got a fantastic idea.

"_Hello Heist." _

"Oh, _James …_"


	15. Ch 14 Dachau Diaries

"**Dachau Diaries"**

**Arc One; Chapter Fourteen**

**Balance of Power**

**May 31, 2006 – 9:15am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

That was it! Ed had decided to declare war on the vile pink room and there was nothing that would stop him today. They'd found Al and plans to get him out of the hospital in Wichita were going to be made tonight. Within the next 48 hours, Al would be with him, back home and safe. He wanted to make him feel comfortable, and the current state of this room would not do.

Ed stopped and realized what had just gone through his mind. Home. It was strange. This was far from a 'home-like' situation for the average person, but for Ed and Al this was about as close as they'd gotten in a few years. The last place Ed felt comfortable enough to call home was the Rockbell's.

Reilly had told him under no uncertain terms that he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted or needed. She made it clear after they got Al out of that hospital, he was welcome too.

"_I can hardly let you stay and say no to your brother, now can I?"_ she'd said.

Okay, he couldn't really argue the logic. But the fact that she was willing to take them both in still meant a lot to him.

It didn't matter that they might have to run at a moment's notice. For now, Ed and Al had a place they could call home.

Hell, even Hughes had more or less moved in, although that had more to do with playing body-guard than any pretense of romance. What the man thought he could do against those shadows, Ed had no idea, but Hughes seemed to think it was necessary, and Reilly didn't argue. Ed was just glad that they'd made arrangements so that no matter what, someone was around at night.

He'd never been afraid of the boogeyman before; he'd never looked to make sure there were no monsters under the bed. He never went through that phase other kids did when imagination ran away with you in the dark. He didn't need to. His real life had been horrifying enough.

Now he wondered if he could ever sleep without a light again.

Ed was beginning to think of Reilly, Tom… and even Ducky, as family of a sort. He had Hughes too, and despite how obnoxious the man was, Ed genuinely cared about him. He'd been there for him and his brother on more occasions than he cared to admit; and if he were to be honest with himself, under the guise of Equivalent Exchange, he owed Hughes… a lot.

He owed all of them. More than he thought he could ever repay. He still couldn't fathom why three strangers would go out of their way to help him and his brother. People don't do that, unless they want something in return. But those three asked for nothing.

"_It's called paying it forward,"_ Reilly had said once. _"Someday, you'll be in a position to do something without getting anything in return, and you'll look back on this."_

And now… tonight… they were making real plans to get Al. Which was another reason Ed had decided to paint the bedroom; sitting around waiting until everyone could get together was going to drive him crazy.

It would be a simple process just to use alchemy to change the color of the room and not even have to resort to the physical labor of the standard preparations, but there was something satisfying in the actual act of moving things out of the way and rolling the paint on the walls. Besides, this way would take longer and keep him occupied.

Especially since Reilly wasn't letting him near her laptop computer.

She'd made sure to back everything up after the last time Ed wiped the hard drive on the desktop, but there was no recovering or reinstalling anything this time. It was little more than a boat anchor now.

He felt himself heat up at the thought of how spectacularly he'd ruined her computer the other night; and he'd apologized profusely to her. She wasn't angry over the ruined thing; she was worried about him. _Still_, he thought, _I should do something_.

Chances of being able to open the gate on Reilly's property and getting back to either Germany or Amestris were slim, but he could still help with her research. While he was beginning to realize that her theories weren't nearly as far out on the fringe as he first thought, he'd still been less than open-minded. Perhaps being a little more cooperative would be the better way to go.

This world was a shock in a way Germany hadn't been, but Ed was starting to adjust and realize it wasn't all that bad. He could even tolerate Ducky on occasion. And if he could learn to do that, he could learn to tolerate almost anything…

Except for that bedroom.

Reilly had given him her blessing in painting those horrendous pink walls, and today was the day to do it. The weather was good for once, and no one was home but Ed. Reilly and Hughes were working, then would be off in different directions making last minute preparations for "Mission: Rescue Terminator Junior", as Ducky had dubbed it in an email he sent Reilly last night. Boredom was looming overhead and he really didn't feel like staring at the 'infernal idiot box', as Reilly so aptly called the TV. So he had a choice of reading books on subjects he had little to no interest in, or painting. Painting won out, and he didn't even have to flip a coin.

Ed had already taken the curtains down and moved what furniture he could into the center of the room; now he was staring at the laden bookshelves, trying to decide where to start and wondering if the bed would actually hold them all without collapsing.

From the living room, a combination of classic rock, blues and even some Gospel was cranking from the stereo speakers. Before Reilly had left for the day, she'd helped Ed create a playlist from all the MP3s she'd amassed, and he'd developed a fondness for the blues and rock tunes she had. He had to admit, even though the Gospel tunes were religion-based, it was damn good music.

As Ed closed his eyes and pointed at a random bookshelf, one of his new favorite songs started playing. He loved the whiskey-rough voice and the earthy sound of the woman who sang the lead, and he liked the way the song started slow, then sped up. It was nothing like he'd ever heard in Amestris, nor 1920's Germany. More's the pity, as far as he was concerned.

"…Listen to the story, now," Tina Turner suggested as Ed started pulling books from the first shelf. As the song slowly progressed, Ed started singing along with her. About the time he dropped the fourth armload of books on the bed, the song paused… and so did Ed. He grinned, anticipating what would come next.

"Oh, left a good job in the city, workin' for the man every night and day…" Tina and Ed belted out as he spun and danced back to the set of shelves. He wouldn't be caught dead doing this where anyone could see him. No way, no how. But he was alone, and he really, _really_ liked this song.

One thing about wood floors; they made sliding across them easy. Unfortunately, Ed had misestimated the needed acceleration and slid his shin into the bed frame. Fortunately, it was his left shin, so he didn't feel the pain that collision should have caused. _Un_fortunately, it caused him to fumble the stack of books and one fairly heavy one landed on his bare foot. The right one.

He started hopping around on the automail foot, clasping the flesh one as Proud Mary wrapped up, muttering curses and considering seriously on wearing his shoes all the time now. In his pain, he neglected to take into account that he had no tread on the metal foot and it slipped out from under him, launching him into the bed, then down to the floor; the precarious pile of books tumbling down on him in a dusty, sharp-cornered avalanche. He flinched and covered his head until he was certain the avalanche had ended. Once the thudding of books had ended, he cautiously opened one eye, then the other.

The minor disaster seemed to be over, and with a minimal amount of damage. Then one last book bounced off his head and landed in his lap with a dull slap, front cover down. This was the first one he grabbed as he dug himself out of the pile, and started to get to his feet.

He absently flipped the book over when he was about halfway up and promptly fell back to the floor… unable to breathe.

The title was "_Dachau Diaries: Letters from the Holocaust_", and the faces that stared back at him punched him in the gut with the force of a battering ram. A dark-skinned, dark-eyed woman… once exotic and beautiful in her youth, now gracefully middle-aged, stood next to a flower shop window…

"N-Noah…"

…Her arms were wrapped affectionately around the shoulders of a tall teenaged boy with equally dark skin, but the eyes were light. His dark hair was short, except for the bangs that nearly hung in those light eyes. The woman was smiling; happier times… but the boy was sulking. An expression that was all too familiar.

Except for the darkness of the skin, it was the same face that looked back at Ed every morning.

Sick, shaking and unable to breathe, Ed flipped the book open and felt the blood drain from his face at the first entry…

_München _

_Januar 4, 1941_

_Vater,_

_Ich sollte Sie hassen. Ich traf Sie nie, und es gab nur eine Abbildung von Ihnen, daß ich überhaupt sah, aber ich merkte mich jedes Detail. Mutter erklärte mir viele Geschichten von Ihnen, aber, wie ich wirklich glauben könnte, daß ein guter Mann so, wie sie sagte, Sie waren, würde uns lassen? Sie würde mit großer Liebe sprechen, und, im Ende Ich mußte vertrauen, daß was sagte sie, war zutreffend. _

_-Maes Elric_

_Munich _

_January 4, 1941 _

_Father, _

_I should hate you. I never met you, and there was only one picture of you that I ever saw, but I memorized every detail. Mother told me many stories of you, but how could I truly believe that a man as good as she said you were, would leave us? She would speak with great love, and in the end, I had to trust what she said was true. _

_-Maes Elric_

"M-Maes?"

His mind wanted to shut down. He didn't want to acknowledge the surname attached to the quote. He couldn't. Because to do so would mean…

_München_

_März 12, 1941_

_Vater,_

_Wo Sie sind, wir benötigen Sie jetzt. Es gibt Gerüchte, welche die Deutschen Leute von ihren Häusern in nebensächlichen Städten nehmen und sie setzen, um als Sklaven zu bearbeiten. Mutter bittet mich, ruhig zu sein, und Glauben haben. Ich lasse sie nicht sie verletzen, sie töten mich zuerst, bevor ich sie sehe, sie zu berühren._

_Munich _

_March 12, 1941 _

_Father, _

_Where are you, we need you now. There are rumors the Germans are taking people from their homes in outlying towns and putting them to work as slaves. Mother tells me to be calm, and to have faith. I won't let them hurt her; they will kill me first before I see them touch her. _

"Oh, God," Ed moaned and scrambled to his feet with his hand over his mouth.

0o0o0

_München_

_März 28, 1941_

_Vater,_

_Es gab Rauch von einer nebensächlichen Stadt heute morgen. Mutter fürchtet das schlechteste. _

Munich

March 28, 1941

Father,

There was smoke from an outlying town this morning. Mother fears the worst.

_Dachau _

_Mai 2, 1941_

_Vater,_

_Ich habe Mutter nicht für fast einen Monat gesehen. Die Deutschen drangen München am Ende März ein und nahmen viele von uns weg in ihren LKWAS. Ich sah die Freunde, die in den Straßen wie Hunden geschossen wurden, und ich fühlte so hilflos. Warum hassen sie uns so? Mutter erklärte mir dieser Welt, die Sie pflegten zu kennen. Von gab es solcher Haß, wo Sie waren? Glaubten die Leute, die für einfach anders als ermordet wurden? _

Dachau

May 2, 1941

Father,

I have not seen mother for nearly a month. The Germans invaded Munich at the end of March and took many of us away in their trucks. I saw friends shot in the streets like dogs, and I felt so helpless. Why do they hate us so? Mother told me of that world you used to know. Was there such hatred where you were from? Were people murdered for simply believing differently?

0o0o0

Ducky knew Reilly wasn't home yet. It didn't matter; it was Ed he wanted to talk to. He'd given almost no detail about Al's state, or about the Walking Wall that was protecting him, and he knew Al hadn't told him much. No one wanted to risk messages being intercepted. Not with the Men in Black snooping around. Ray said they'd faked Al's medical records to throw the Feds off the scent, but Ducky knew it would only be a matter of time before they picked it up again.

That meant one of two things: either the Men in Black were going to figure out where Al was hidden before the recon team could get there, and they were going to have to plan a full-out assault to get him; or he would really be moved and placed under someone else's protection, and they'd have to plan a full-out assault to get him. Either way, something was going to go boom.

He stood in the middle of the unpopulated living room and looked around. Music was playing, but he didn't hear anything from the kitchen. "Hey! Terminator-boy! Got some news for you," he called out.

No response.

Ducky thought he caught a hint of something, but couldn't pin down what it was. He turned down the music on the computer, and listened. A moment later, he heard it again. A choking, coughing sound; low and muffled, and coming from the direction of Ed's room.

"Reilly's dust bunny collection get to you?" he said as he headed down the hall. At the doorway he froze, a smart-assed comment dying in his throat at the sight before him.

Ed was sitting, curled in on himself amidst a pile of tumbled books, hugging one tightly to his chest. He glanced up at Ducky with huge gold eyes stricken with more anguish than he'd ever seen. Haunted, heartbroken. Wet trails etched his face where tears had been shed.

"Ed?" Ducky whispered as he took a cautious step forward. "What's wrong, dude?"

The boy swallowed, and his mouth trembled. Ducky saw his eyes fill with more tears just before he brought a hand up over them. A sob escaped as Ed curled up into a tighter ball, hugging the book as though it were the only thing that could keep him from shattering into a million pieces.

Ducky shoved books out of his way and knelt next to Ed. He gently took the book from the boy's hands, meeting no resistance, and took a look at the cover. The face of the teenaged boy that stared back at him bore an uncanny resemblance to the young man sobbing next to him. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Ducky's stomach as he opened the book up to the footnotes at the end. The page was crumpled and damp, but the ink was still legible.

"Noah Elric, 33. Cause of death, hypothermia. Cremated. Maes Elric, 16. Cremated. Maes Hughes, 45. Cause of death, pneumonia. Cremated. Gracia Hughes, 41. Cremated. Elysia Hughes, 15. Cremated," he read softly, the horror of what he was seeing sinking in and gripping his heart. "Oh fuck."

Ducky set the book aside. He had no words to offer; he just drew Ed into his arms and held him. The younger man's sobs started in earnest, and his narrow shoulders shook. "She was p-pregnant when I left," Ed choked. "I h-had a son... I had a s-son... I didn't know… and now he's d-dead."

0o0o0

_Dachau_

_Bastard! Cowardly stinkende Tiere!!! Mutter... _

Dachau

Bastards! Cowardly stinking animals!!! Mother...

_Dachau_

_Juli 12, 1941_

_Sie wird gegangen. Ich sah ihr weg führend. Und für einen Moment, sie betrachtete mich. Dann drückte der deutsche Schweinsoldat ihr Vorwärts. Es gab die spielende Musik, aber ich könnte ruhig die Schüsse hören. _

Dachau

July 12, 1941

She is gone. I saw her being led away. And for one moment, she looked at me. Then the German pig soldier pushed her forward. There was music playing, but I could still hear the gunshots.

_Dachau_

_Juli 23, 1941_

_Sie kommen für uns. Vater, Ich habe Angst. Ich benötige Sie, bitte _

Dachau

July 23, 1941

They are coming for us. Father, I'm afraid. I need you, please.

0o0o0

Reilly hated days like this. A glitch in the system had caused several thousand bills to be sent out that were wrong, and all day long she had to take calls from several thousand pissed-off customers. The calling was so heavy that overtime was made mandatory to handle the queue. Two hours extra. It felt like ten. It made her regret begging to get her job back.

She had never been so happy to see her driveway in her life. She was even happy to see the Ninjavan parked there; it meant she could talk Ducky into cooking tonight.

As she crawled out of the truck, a set of headlights hit the mirrors from behind her and she turned to see Hughes pulling in. _He's here early_, she thought.

Ducky already here; Hughes arriving early. It meant one thing to Reilly. Ducky had more news about Ed's little brother. She hoped it was good. She could really use some happy sounds right now.

She waited until Hughes climbed out of the car and her heart sank at the grim set to the man's mouth. "Shit," she said when he reached her side. "What happened?"

Hughes shook his head. "Don't know yet. Ducky called me at work and said Ed needed me right away. It didn't sound good."

"Oh boy," Reilly breathed and started for the door. Hughes gripped her shoulder, and she looked back.

"Reilly," he said, and hesitated. "He… he sounded like he'd been crying."

Reilly's jaw clenched and tension twisted in her stomach. "Not good."

Together, they went into the house.

Ducky met them in the living room, his head was hanging low, and he had a book in his hand. Both Hughes and Reilly stopped dead in their tracks.

"Ducky?" Reilly queried.

The hacker never looked up, but she heard him sniffle before he spoke. His voice was thick, and it cracked. "The good news is… Al's safe."

"Oh good," Hughes breathed next to her.

"He's alive and well," Ducky stated. "It's just going to take some planning to get him."

Reilly breathed a sigh of relief, and felt Hughes relax a little next to her. The good feeling was short-lived though, for when Ducky finally looked up, his dark eyes were sunken and pained. He focused on Hughes and said, "You'd better sit down, Maes."

0o0o0

Hughes had gone to Ed's room after Ducky had filled him in and showed him the book. Two hours later he was still sitting on the floor, back against the side of the bed. Ed had cried himself to sleep before Ducky had called him, and the boy was still asleep. Hughes had no intention of waking him up. Not after all that. But he was going to be there when he woke on his own.

The creepiness of seeing his own name and that of his girls listed as dead in a concentration camp was bad enough. The pain he felt at the horrors they had faced clenched his heart with an icy grip, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his own girls' names. Logically, he knew this wasn't his Gracia or his Elysia that had been sent to the ovens, but logic didn't help any in this case. It was still Gracia and Elysia Hughes. They were his girls and they died a horrible death in a horrible war. And he wasn't there to save them.

He tried to reconcile the fact that Maes Hughes was there, but it just wouldn't stick. It wasn't _him_. And all he could do was pray that _his_ girls were all right.

He glanced over at Ed, who was beginning to stir. It was horrible enough to think about the alter versions of the people he loved the most being imprisoned, starved, tortured, and killed. It was worse to think about how Ed was suffering now, knowing that a woman he loved and a son he never knew about had died in actuality. Noah and Maes were not alter versions, they were the flesh and blood… and heart of the young man laying in the bed next to him.

Hughes sighed and rested his head on his arms. He remembered when Ed was only twelve years old and had helped deliver his own precious Elysia. Now the boy was a young man, and a father who had just discovered he had a son, only to have that child ripped from him in the same instant.

Hughes knew, probably better than anyone else outside of Alphonse, just how agonizing it was for Ed right now. He knew that it wasn't just that his son was dead, but also that his son had grown up without him. He knew that Ed was horribly afraid that he'd just followed in his own father's footsteps and that his son thought he'd abandoned him and his mother.

He also knew that he was going to have to do a lot of talking to get the boy past that guilt. It was an accident, after all. Ed wouldn't abandon his wife and child if he'd been given a choice.

"She must've taken my name when she found out she was pregnant," Ed whispered, startling Hughes from his thoughts.

There was enough light streaming through the un-curtained windows for Hughes to see that Ed was awake and not talking in his sleep. It was also enough for him to see the look on his face, and it worried him. He had only seen that horrified, haunted look one other time; after Nina Tucker had been transmuted into a chimera, then murdered. "Ed," he whispered.

"He probably died cursing my name."

"You didn't abandon him, Ed."

"I wasn't there."

"It wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

"Fat lot of good it did," Ed spat. "The bomb was still developed and used."

"You delayed it by several years, and Germany didn't develop it first. The US did."

Ed rolled over, turning his back to Hughes. "I think I would rather have died at ground zero fifteen years early… beside my… son. As a father."

Hughes let the silence weigh heavily between them for a few moments, his back resting against the bed again, before he spoke. "So I'm a bad father, am I?"

He felt the bed behind him shift. "Huh?"

Hughes focused on his hands, remembering when he first held his daughter. "I deliberately left my family, Ed. I left them, letting them think I was dead, because I was involved in something larger than myself. I knew I'd never see my daughter grow up, never see her go to school, never get to watch my wife age beautifully as she matured." His breath caught. "I abandoned them."

Hughes felt a flesh hand rest on his arm. "You didn't abandon them, Maes. You didn't have a choice. If you wanted to keep them safe, you had to leave."

Smiling slightly on the inside, Hughes looked up. "Then how can you call yourself a bad father?"

Hughes saw the surprise on Ed's face, but didn't let him get a word in. "You went to stop something larger than yourself and Noah thought you were dead. You didn't know she was pregnant; neither did she, I'll bet." He smiled lightly through the sadness. "She was probably grateful you left something of yourself with her, and told your son as much."

Ed blinked, then stammered "But I still—"

Hughes smiled at the boy, reaching up to silence him. "It doesn't work that way, Ed. If you're guilty of being a bad parent, then I am, too."

Ed's mouth flopped for a few seconds, as he tried to come up with an argument and failed miserably. Then his face fell into that trademark sulk and he flopped back on the bed. "You fight dirty, Hughes."

Hughes smiled. "I have to work with what I've got." Standing up and brushing dust from his hands, he offered a hand to Ed. "C'mon; we'll sort this whole mess out once we've got Al back."

It took a few moments, but Ed smiled slightly and grabbed the proffered hand. "Sounds like a plan."


	16. Ch 15 Brothers Connect

"**Brothers Connect"**

**(Interlude)**

**Arc One; Chapter Fifteen**

**Balance of Power**

**May 28, 2006**

_Al,_

_You broke your arm?! I swear if you were here right now, I'd kill you. Both for that and the jerk comment. But I suppose I should let you live, since these guys have gone to so much trouble finding you. Just don't get hurt anymore, or I will kick your ass._

_Now I get to add comments about the food and stuff, since Reilly is actually watching over my shoulder as I type, instead of me dictating to Hughes. I have got to get you to try Gumbo, it's the best. But you'll have to have milk with it, or it'll burn like hell. They have this stuff called soymilk here, it's actually pretty good. And not secreted from a cow!_

_I'm getting glared at, so I'll end it here. Love you, little brother._

_-Ed_

_---------_

**May 29, 2006**

_Ed,_

_How does killing me solve the fact I have a broken arm, or the fact that you can be a jerk sometimes?_

_And since when do you drink MILK??? I should go look for flying pigs..._

_Love you too, Brother._

_-Al_

_P.S. You know I can still beat you. Always have, always will._

_P.S.S. Why were you dictating to Hughes? You didn't break something did you?_

_---------_

_Al,_

_I am not a jerk! I'm nice... most of the time. And could you just take care of yourself? You're not made of metal, you know._

_Before you start asking who I am and what I did with Ed, let me just say that the entire reason I hate milk is because it's glorified pus secreted from cow boobs, so if there's a plant substitute, I'm all for it. You know that._

_Who knows? Maybe I'll get taller than Hughes after drinking it!_

_And you know pigs wouldn't fly well. A dog/bird cross would work better._

_-Ed_

_P.S. I've been practicing, I bet I could kick your ass now. Especially with you being in a hospital for weeks._

_P.S.S. Break something?! What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm careless? You know, it's not my fault that computers are vulnerable to static electricity._

_---------_

**May 30, 2006**

_Ed,_

_Oh thanks, now you've put me off my milk. That was not a visual I needed. And you are too a jerk when I'm not around. And I am taking care of myself! It's not my fault some idiot plowed into me with a mini-van. Ray said the police found an abandoned mini-van that matched my injuries, so..._

_And if you get taller, I'll be happy; you'll finally stop sniping at people who call you small._

_That's why I said flying pigs; they're highly unlikely, about as much as you liking milk. So there._

_-Al_

_P.S. I've been doing my forms too, so I can still beat you._

_P.S.S. Touchy. I never said anything like that. So what did you do to get in trouble, this time?_

_---------_

_Al,_

_Wonderful, my mission to keep my little brother 'little' is succeeding... ahem, did I type that? Oops._

_And who're you calling so small they could drown in a puddle? Don't forget, I'm still taller than you! Be happy that I'm drinking soymilk!_

_You know, there should be some kind of law against poking fun at a guy via pixies!_

_-Ed_

_P.S. I am not a jerk._

_P.S.S. Hey! I've been the perfect guest, damnit! It was a freak accident. Just a little weirdness. Nothing to worry about._

_---------_

**May 31, 2006**

_Ed,_

_There will be a day when I am taller than you! That day will come! Just you wait!_

_And I am happy you're drinking soymilk. You're taking care of yourself without me being there! _

_sigh We always dream of the day when our little ones leave the nest, but when they finally grow up, it's bittersweet._

_Poking at you via pixies is safer; you can't try to beat me by computer screen (not that you ever could)._

_-Al_

_P.S. You are too._

_P.S.S. Freak accident? Weirdness? That kind of thing never happens around you, Brother. It sounds like you have some explaining to do when we see each other again._

_---------_

_Al,_

_You are sooooo dead. Just you wait until I get you somewhere where I can beat the crap out of you. I AM NOT LITTLE!!!_

_Be glad there's over a hundred miles between us right now._

_Oh, as a note, we're plotting "Operation: Rescue Terminator Junior" tonight, as Ducky calls it. I'll e-mail you with the details later; right now, I hear painting calling my name. I am so bored._

_-Ed_

_P.S. Am not._

_P.S.S. There's nothing to explain, Al. And I'll ignore the sarcasm, this time._

_---------_

_Al,_

_We're coming to get you in two nights. June 2nd. Be ready and tell the walking wall we'll be coming._

_Love you, Brother. Love you so much._

_-Ed_

_---------_

**June 1, 2006**

_Ed,_

_I'll be sure to tell Ray that you're on the way. He's getting worried about my still being here, I think._

_And yes you are little. Being just a centimeter taller than me won't last long. :D Don't forget, I still have some growing left to do, but you're pretty much done._

_Remember what Mom always said; only boring people are bored. Though I could add; except in hospitals._

_Love you, too, Ed._

_-Al_

_P.S. That second e-mail wasn't details, it was vague plans. So there._

_P.S.S. What sarcasm?_

_---------_

_Al,_

_SAY THAT TO MY FACE, PUNK. I WILL POUND YOU._

_Ahem. Only boring people are bored, except in hospitals and when in a new time period. So there._

_...I have a bit of news for you. I'll tell you when we see each other again._

_-Ed_

_P.S. What's with the :D ? I don't get it._

**June 2, 2006**

_Ed,_

_I will say it to your face. As soon as you get it to me. You're really slow when it comes to rescuing me, you always have been._

_Ooo, news! I hope it's good. Do we get to have a kitten?_

_See you tonight!_

_-Al_

_P.S. Jeeze Brother, don't you know anything? The :D is a sideways smiling face. The colon is the eyes, and the D is the mouth. It's an evil grin, like your fanged one. Gene taught it to me:D_


	17. Ch16 You Did What to Whom?

"**You Did What? To Whom? For How Many Cookies?"**

**Arc One; Chapter Sixteen**

**Balance of Power**

**June 2, 2006 – 6:32am**

**Somewhere in Northeastern Kansas**

Sidney raced along I-35 back toward Wichita. He'd made a stop in Kansas City after getting a call from that annoying little blue-haired informant. For once it was good, solid information, and he had put up with her rambling off-track and incoherent babbling long enough to sift through the nonsense and get what he needed.

He'd just checked out of the hotel in Iowa City and was headed to some spot on the map in Indiana, when his cell had started playing that blasted theme again. He knew who it was. Only one person could do that to his phone. He'd answered it with a disgusted sigh and the hope that she had something worth his time. He really didn't have the patience nor the desire to make a special trip out of his way to put an end to their 'relationship,' but if her call wasn't important, he would.

What little she told him over the phone was intriguing enough to make him change his plans after all.

They met up in the sickeningly quaint ice cream parlor where Heist worked. She was too busy moping behind the counter to see him when he arrived, and it looked like it was going to require a little effort on his part to get her to her cheerfully gibbering mode.

"Welcome to Olde Tymes, home of the Colossally Caramel Camelot Sundae. Would you like to try a Merlin's Magical Milkshake or an Excalibur Concrete?" she recited dully in his direction.

"I think I'll have a malt today, shaken, not stirred," he drawled. James Sidney Bond could be very charming when he absolutely needed to be, and he could turn on the charisma just as well as his movie namesake. Heist perked up and a shade of a maniacal grin crossed her face.

"Well, that's a rather tall order," she said cheerfully. "But I need to know what flavor. We have more than seven hundred possible combinations, after all."

Sidney shrugged and leaned forward over the counter. "I have absolute trust in your discretion and good taste, my dear." He smiled then; Sidney prided himself on his acting ability and all it took to win most people over was a flash of a sincere-looking grin. He loved how they never saw death coming until it hit them right between the eyes.

Heist wasn't stupid, but it didn't take much to make her trust him. She was a radical idealist. A bit of a flake, really. Part of the 'Lunatic Fringe'. And she knew more about the Gates than anyone he'd met so far, but she also had no idea what she was sitting on. There was no reason to tell her that he was an alchemist and an assassin; all she needed to know was that he was from somewhere else and wanted to get back. He'd set out the bait, and she'd taken it.

She'd pointed him in the direction of that Reilly woman in Bartlesville, but that was a bust. The woman might have a Gate sitting proudly in the middle of her back yard, but she was too canny. She would see right through him and then he'd have to turn her into a nasty red smear. And that wouldn't help him at all.

That didn't mean he couldn't get information from her, though. The few sneak-and-peeks he'd made during the rare times no one was in the run-down farmhouse elicited a wealth of information. Unfortunately, none of it told him how to open the gods-be-damned Gate.

Her research continued though and he would check back periodically to see how far it had advanced between other assignments. He had to keep up appearances, after all. It wouldn't do to have his secret get out and have this country's government haul him in for testing. He might have the protection of his current Commander, but that protection was not omnipotent. Especially if he were to do something stupid, like reveal who he really was to the wrong people.

Covering up the cause of death of a few nosey idiots was much easier than damming up an information leak, after all.

He'd never given up on the idea of getting back, even after four long, miserable years in this hell-hole. And it wasn't all just playing Secret Agent and obsession over the Gates. He had every intention of returning to Hakuro bearing gifts. This world was far advanced in science and technology compared to Amestris and learning how to access that information was ridiculously easy. The intelligence he'd gathered and saved would fill the Central Library ten times over, now. With the weapons technology information he had, he would return a hero and Hakuro would be able to assure his position as Fuehrer. The balance of power would tilt radically in Amestris' favor.

Of course all this would be a moot point if he couldn't get back, but that was beginning to look like less of a problem, now.

The brief tease of Heist's information made him wish he could get away with his own brand of house cleaning and dispose of the useless morons he had working under him. Agents, with access to the best technology this miserable world had to offer, and not a one of them could find that damned little alchemist. It took a scatter-brained, myopic hacker with the attention span of a gnat to find out the mouthy little brat had never left the hospital in Wichita in the first place.

After he'd blown up a local bar and a few of the more expensive-looking cars in the Sheraton parking ramp, Sidney had taken some time to rethink the situation. Someone on the staff knew more than they should. Why else would they fake the paperwork and hide the kid in plain sight? He was looking forward to showing them the error of their ways. Later, though. The kid wasn't going anywhere. Not as long as they thought he was safe, and for the moment Sidney had no reason to make them think otherwise.

Heist finally produced a milkshake with a flourish and found Sidney a corner table by a badly drawn dragon. If he looked at it right, it seemed to be breathing fire at the knight attempting to fight it and he found it remarkably appropriate.

"You're looking down today," Sidney said, his voice oozing with false concern.

Heist prodded at her own ice cream. "I work here," she gestured at their surroundings, "and Mandar was in here about an hour before you were crying about how she broke up with her boyfriend. It sucked, man. I gave her a free sundae and she just let it melt all over the table. The horror!"

Sidney nodded sympathetically and took a sip of his malt. Surprisingly, it wasn't an oversweet frenzy of flavors like he'd expected, just tasting a touch of pumpkin and cinnamon with a mellow overtone of honey and the barest hint of tart citrus to offset it all. It was almost like drinking a good cup of tea, and he was forced to reevaluate his opinion of her usefulness.

Heist smiled brilliantly at his honest expression of enjoyment. "You think that's good? Wait'll you hear what I found out. I already told you that kid you wanted me to find is still in Wichita, right? Well, I finally figured out his story."

Sidney sat up a little straighter and motioned for her to continue. Heist didn't need the encouragement. "He's got an older brother. Does the name Edward Elric mean anything to you?"

Sidney stopped listening at that point. _Elric_, he thought. _The little Fullmetal Bastard_. It had to be. It suddenly made perfect sense. Why the John Doe in the hospital looked so familiar. The little brother. But the little brother was a soul trapped in armor last he'd heard. It was supposed to be one the State's best-kept secrets, but like any State Secret, there were always certain channels that gave them up with the right connections. The Fuehrer knew about the younger Elric, which meant Hakuro knew, and it filtered down to Sidney.

Heist rambled on regardless, and he snapped back to attention. "—thought so. Anyhow, Ducky didn't come right out and say it, but this guy showed up at Reilly's the night of that big storm, when all the ley-lines went haywire. I'm betting that he took a little trip down the wrong rabbit hole and ended up here instead of Wonderland."

_If he's flesh and blood now, that would mean… _

"You know what that means, right?" Heist asked excitedly. "Whatever brought you here isn't a one time kind of thing. Tap your heels together and make a wish, Dorothy, you could find a way home!"

_Not only that_, Sidney thought as his heart raced and he used everything he had to keep his usual calm, cool exterior from cracking. _They made the Philosopher's Stone. Ruby slippers indeed…_

The moment he came to that realization, he couldn't get away from Heist fast enough. The temptation to fly from Kansas City to Tulsa then just appropriate a car was incredibly strong, but Sidney had a few loose ends to tie up here and preparations to make in Wichita before he could get to Bartlesville.

_They made the Philosopher's Stone_, the thought ran through his mind like a mantra. Knowing the Amestrian government, it was highly likely that the Elric brothers had used it to escape through the Gate, to get themselves and the stone as far away from the military's clutches as they could.

A grin spread across Sidney's face as he drove. Had anyone seen it, they would have thought they were looking at their own impending death.

_Perhaps there is something to fate, after all. _

0o0o0

**10:32am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Al stared at his newly-freed left arm, flexing the atrophied muscles which ached after the intense rehabilitation he'd put them through. The therapist had said that the brace could go permanently, which was a very good thing in Al's opinion. He wanted to get his arm back to normal very soon.

Since the therapist didn't want him to overdo it with the arm, he'd been allowed to do some lifting and strength training, then told to do his forms and let it rest so that the fracture didn't re-break. After his forms were done, he was left with a good bit of time while Eugene trained his upper body. He'd told Al once that he wanted to get away from the remote wheelchair and into a manual one. So while Al waited, he pulled the wooden flute from his pocket and idly started playing a tune.

It was near the end of Gene's session, and Al was starting to feel very relaxed when he spotted a couple at the door. They were watching as Gene finished his therapy and he didn't look happy when he spotted them. Al pretended to be more interested in his music but watched out of the corner of his eye as Gene wheeled over and talked to them.

After a minute or two, Al realized that the couple was Gene's parents and that it was none of his business. He lost himself in the music again, playing whatever tune came to mind and fingers. His eyes closed as he leaned against the wall, the melody soothing his own mind and making everything seem a lot more peaceful. So much so that he didn't even notice Gene sitting next to him until he heard a cough during a pause for breath.

"Oh! Hi," Al said as he came out of his musings.

"Got something for you," Gene said as he tossed a fluffy teddy bear onto Al's lap. "The folks thought I might want something cuddly, and I know how you like soft things, so..."

Al's face broke into a huge grin at the brown fluffy thing in front of him, and he gave it a hug immediately, enjoying the soft feel of plush against his skin. "Thanks, Br—er, Gene."

Eugene started at the mix-up, then gave Al a long, hard look. It strongly reminded Al of Winry when she realized Ed had concocted another stupid and dangerous plan. "All right, enough of this bullshit," he said once Al was feeling very uncomfortable. "What the hell are you hiding from?"

The question hit Al in the chest like a sock full of cens. Trying desperately to hide the panic he felt rising, Al cleared his throat and tried to hide his face in the bear's soft fur. "What makes you think I'm hiding from something?" He could still feel Gene's sharp blue eyes boring into him from behind those glasses.

"Don't try to lie to me, your poker face is terrible," the other teen said. "How the hell could I not have noticed? For one thing, you don't act like someone who's lost his memories and supposedly has trust issues. I mean, look at how quickly you came to my rescue when we first met, and you didn't even know me. _Then_ you wandered away from Ray and went to talk to that computer guy, which is something else someone with trust issues would never do."

He lightly tugged on the bear in emphasis, which Al was hugging even tighter. "Also, there's the skin hunger. You're always touching someone or something like you may never get the chance to do it again. If you had trust issues, you would shy away from that."

Al gulped. _Brother always did say I had a face made of glass. I didn't think I was __**that**__ transparent, though._

"Then there's the stuff you know, but shouldn't know! Like knowing that Scotland's original name was Caledonia, even if you got the country Stonehenge was in wrong. And searching for alchemy online is a bit strange in itself. Even your e-mail address tells me you're hiding something, since it contains a very specific idea, that of you being an '_armored alchemist'_, which I _still_ don't get, but it obviously means something important to you."

Al's breath hitched and he clasped his hands tighter around the bear in an effort to hide the shaking. The paralyzing fear returned and he felt like he was caught in those headlights again, with no idea what to do to avert the wreck looming in front of him.

"And let's not forget that you've been e-mailing some stranger off and on for the past few days, and you nearly shit yourself with excitement when a new message comes in. If that doesn't mean you're making plans, I'll eat my damned wheelchair."

Gene's hand rested warmly on Al's forearm and his voice grew soft. "Look, John, you've been an actual friend to me, and I don't get those often. Your eyes didn't really register my little chariot, and usually that's all anyone sees." He sighed. "I want to help, if I can. Can't you tell me?"

Al swallowed hard and finally looked up. He shook his head, unable to say a word.

Eugene pinned him with a look and leaned forward. Then he gave Al a grin that smacked of Ed's personal brand of deviousness. "It's not like finding out what you've sent in those e-mails would be hard for me, you know," he said, voice pitched low to veil the threat. "Hacking e-mails are a piece of cake for me. And even if it's coded, I'd have it sorted out soon. I _am_ a genius, after all."

At the last phrase, Al was startled out of his panic and he just stared. It was shocking to hear the same kind of bragging his brother used come from someone else. Then the incongruousness of it overwhelmed him and he gave in to the giggles.

Gene frowned. "What's so funny?"

Struggling to control his giggle fit and feeling a lot calmer, Al gave his friend a shy smile. "You sounded just like Brother, saying that."

His friend sat back in his chair, the canny grin back on his face. "So you _do_ remember. Why hide it?"

Al loosened his choke-hold on the brown bear and sighed. "It's a long story."

Gene looked up and Al followed his gaze. Ray was coming for them. "Look, Ray's coming, so why don't we try to get together sometime this afternoon. You can tell me then."

Al gave a quiet sigh, then nodded and gathered his things. "All right."

0o0o0

**11:42am**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Ed was in the garden practicing his forms. The day had grown to be a hot one, so he worked out in just shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. His automail gleamed in the bright sunlight, but he didn't mind. He was out in the middle of nowhere with no one home, and no one expected. He could have been working out completely naked and he wouldn't have had a worry in the world. Of course, that would never happen, but it was nice to know he could if he wanted.

The plans were all in place. Tonight they were leaving for Wichita. They were finally going to get Al out of that hospital. The waiting had driven him nuts; they'd all insisted that these things take time. But time dragged. And dragged. And DRAGGED. And matters were only made worse by the fact there was almost nothing he could do to help. He was in an alien world with different rules and he was as clueless as a newborn.

Admittedly, Reilly, Tom and Ducky didn't hold it against him, but that wasn't the point. When it came to his brother, Edward Elric did not give in and let others help easily. Okay, he didn't let anyone help him in _anything_ unless he had no choice, but he was especially stubborn when it came to Al.

Things had been quiet for the past couple of days, at least as far as the 'Men in Black' as Ducky called them, and Ed found himself hoping that it would stay that way. He just as quickly brushed the thought aside. Quiet was not in the cards for the Elric brothers, least of all for the oldest one. But maybe, one day… Perhaps the two of them could finally settle down somewhere and call it home.

He hesitated in the middle of one move as the photograph from the book floated in his vision. Noah's face wore the years well but for the sorrow in her gaze, and he could only imagine how much of that grief had been caused by the sullen boy staring out from the pages. If he'd been anything like Ed growing up he'd have been a hellraiser. The half-fond thought died a bitter death as Ed remembered abruptly that he never had the chance to know. His heart clenched like a vice and his eyes burned with the threat of tears.

It would have been so much easier if he hadn't given in to the aching loneliness that twisted his gut every night and pushed him to seek solace in Noah's arms. Yes, he had Al with him, alive and whole. But it wasn't enough. Everyone he loved, even that Bastard Colonel, was permanently out of reach. During the day he was able to keep his mind occupied, to push the memories of friends lost away. But at night, they haunted him. Regrets for things never said, but should have been. He'd never really thanked Mustang for helping them. It didn't matter that it had helped Mustang's career as much as it did them; if it hadn't been for that self-serving asshole, Al would have been sent to a lab, and Ed would have been executed.

Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Falman, Fuery… Armstrong even… Ross, Brosh, Sciezka. The nearly endless litany of names and faces went though his thoughts. People he knew well and called friend. People he'd only met once or twice, but were impossible to forget: Russell, Fletcher, Rick, Leo… People who were the closest thing to a family he had besides Al… Izumi, Sig, Granny Pinako. And Winry.

Winry. He had the most to regret there. He'd never told her. He'd always thought he'd have the chance one day and that she'd be there forever. She'd been hurt so many times because he shut her out. He'd had no choice if he wanted to keep her safe. Then he went back through that damned Gate and as good as locked it and threw away the key. If losing everyone else felt like cutting out his own heart, losing Winry was adding salt to the raw wound and drowning it in bad alcohol.

It was months before he hit the breaking point. Whether it was the cognac that night, or something else entirely, he was never quite certain. If Noah hadn't been there... Hell, he wasn't sure if he saw her as Noah or as a poor substitute for what he really wanted, but she understood. Without ever saying a word, she understood so much more than he could ever voice. Her silent and gentle touches healed him more than any amount of alchemy ever could. She healed him in places even his own brother could never touch.

Did he love her? He'd asked himself that question many times over the following months. Maybe. It wasn't the same as what he felt for Winry, the feeling that she was a part of him. He certainly cared about her, would do whatever it took to keep her safe. He wanted her to be happy. If that was love, then he supposed he felt it.

But if he truly loved her, wouldn't he have been more responsible? Wouldn't he have tried to prevent a pregnancy neither of them were ready for?

He'd stopped moving entirely, staring into the koi pond without really seeing it. All he could see on the water was the black and white face he saw in the mirror every day. _Maes…_ he thought. _My son. My sin. My selfishness cursed your short life to a Hell I can't begin to imagine. And all I can say is… I'm sorry._

"Traveling is difficult when you carry a heavy heart."

Ed spun at the sound and went immediately into a defensive crouch as he searched for the owner of the voice.

"It takes you off your center and causes you to lose your path."

It took a moment, but he found the figure sitting on the wall under the catalpa, nearly hidden in the shadows. Had he not shifted to rest his foot on the wall, Ed would never have seen him; he blended into the deep shade that well. "Who the hell are you?"

"What day is it?"

"Huh?"

Ed couldn't see his face that clearly, but he caught a glint of light from glasses. Even still, there was something familiar about the voice and the form.

"I've been called many different things," the man said lightly. "Some of them were not always friendly."

"I wonder why," Ed mumbled, and took a few cautious steps closer. "Why don't you come out here? Let me see you better. Or are you afraid?"

The form in the shadows chuckled and slid down off the wall. "Should a man fear the butterfly?"

Ed's ground his teeth and clenched his fists. "Are you saying I'm too small to kick your ass?"

The man ducked to pass under the branches of the tree and came into the sunlight. He stopped close enough to Ed to make him look up. He smiled _down_, which only served to piss Ed off more.

"Your size has nothing to do with it," he said. "Your temperament does, though." He removed his glasses and slipped them into the pocket of his fatigue jacket. With a mild look he turned his back on Ed and crossed to the bench. "You've got good form in practice." He took off the jacket and laid it neatly on the seat. "But how are you with a real opponent?"

Ed felt his stomach clench. _This guy wants a fight?_ Sure the guy was big, but that didn't mean a damn thing. After all, he'd taken down bigger. He flexed his fingers and felt the knuckles crack in his left hand. "Don't underestimate me," he said in a low voice. "You think I'm a butterfly? I'll show you I can sting like a bee."

The man glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. "I think Mohammed Ali owns the copyright to that line."

Ed stared for a second and shook it off. The guy was trying to distract him with more of that pop culture, throw him off his game. _No chance_, Ed thought. The man returned to hover over Ed. He crossed his arms over his chest, but the smile remained.

Ed glared up at the man for a long moment, but neither said a word.

Without warning, Ed surged forward, automail fist outstretched for a well-practiced strike. Before he could make an impact, the stationary man somehow caught him and twisted. The sky and the ground lazily changed places overhead, and he felt the vaguest sensation of flying. He hit the ground with authority and rolled smoothly back to his feet. He nodded in acknowledgement; he never saw the other man move.

A wolf's grin spread on his face, and Ed circled around the man. He'd underestimated this stranger, but it wasn't going to happen again. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"A traveler. Much like yourself."

Ed's face twisted into a sneer. "I doubt that."

The man shrugged. Ed lunged…

…and missed him by a mile.

Ed skidded to a stop and spun. The man was still in the same spot, arms crossed over his chest and still grinning.

"Quit talking in riddles. What's your name?" Ed said.

"Ah! See, you didn't ask me that." The man bowed graciously. "I am called Singer by most."

Ed scowled. "Is that your first or last name?"

"It's a name."

"Stop jerking me around. What are you doing here?"

Singer chuckled. "Right now? Watching you use up all your energy."

"Damnit!" Ed snapped and swung at Singer. He felt something solid under his fist, then found himself spinning around again. When he stopped and got his feet back under him, he turned to face the man again. "Why won't you answer me?"

Singer shrugged again. "I am. Perhaps you're not asking the right questions."

Ed thought a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "All right. _Why_ are you _here_?" he asked as he pointed at the ground.

Singer smirked. "I'm not. You are."

Ed groaned and covered his face with a hand. Of all the people he'd encountered, why did he always seem to find the craziest ones? "Are you deliberately being an asshole?"

Singer laughed and turned to head back to the bench. "My mother says I come by it naturally."

It was time for a change of tactics. Though it wasn't exactly fair fighting, Ed went after Singer while the man had his back turned. He was going to bring the guy down, even if he had to play dirty. Singer had other ideas.

The larger man spun and knelt as he reached up and caught Ed's right wrist in an iron grip. "You're good, Iron Butterfly, but you let your emotions override your focus." The two of them locked eyes and wills for a long moment, then with a grin and a blur of motion, Ed broke free.

They moved together in a deadly dance; Ed spun and jabbed and kicked, and Singer effortlessly deflected all blows. Ed kept at him with relentless determination, not backing down and not backing up. Then in a flurry, a clap, and a flash, he had Singer bent backwards over the wall with an automail dagger at his throat.

"Now, you gonna answer my questions? Or will I have to show you a new way to breathe?"

Singer's eyes sparked with humor and the smile that never left his face grew warmer. "Impressive. So that's why they've taken so much interest in you."

Ed pressed just a little harder against Singer's throat in emphasis. "They?"

"The Shadows."

Ed realized then why the man's voice sounded familiar. He lurched back. "You were in the house the other night," he said low, as he returned his right arm back to normal.

Singer righted himself and lightly rubbed at his throat. "Yes. Unfortunately, by the time I got there, you'd already beat them back."

"So you know why they're attacking me?"

Singer half-twisted to pop his back, but stopped at the question. He gave Ed an appraising look and cocked a brow. "They're trying to warn you," he said as if the answer should have been obvious.

"Warn me? By trying to suck the life out of me?"

Sighing at the muted crack of his back, Singer rolled his shoulders and went to retrieve his jacket from the bench. He didn't say anything as he donned it and put his glasses back on. Ed only watched in confusion, not sure whether to beat the crap out of him or to wait for the answers. Considering trying to beat the man didn't seem to do him much good before, he opted on the second choice.

Singer flopped down on the bench and crossed his legs, then leaned over the side and pulled a reed flute from the duffle that had been sitting there. _How the hell did I miss seeing that?_ Ed wondered as the man began to play.

Ed decided that he'd waited long enough and stomped up to Singer. "Hey! Are you going to answer me?"

Singer stopped playing and looked up at Ed. "All things have a price and we fear that which we don't understand. Your protector has fought against the Shadows all her life and she believes that is necessary. The Shadows are a warning, but you can't know what they're warning you about if you don't pay their price."

"They feed off life energy," Ed said. "Seems a pretty high price to pay if you ask me."

"It's the price they require," Singer said with a shrug. "If you want what they have badly enough, you'll pay it." He reached out and tapped Ed's right arm with the flute. "You've paid a high price for something already."

Ed stepped back and his flesh hand automatically went to the automail. "What do you know about this?"

"The particulars? Not a damn thing. But I know what I see, and what I see is that you gave your right arm and left leg for something you greatly desired."

"So what are they trying to warn me about?"

"You'll have to ask them." Singer gestured at the ground. "Would you sit down? My neck is getting a cramp from looking up at you."

Ed opened his mouth to yell when what Singer said sunk in. His mouth closed with a snap, but he didn't sit.

"Can you at least tell me what they are?" he asked finally.

Singer shook his head. "I can tell you they're not from here, nothing more."

"So you're trespassing on Reilly's land just to tell me you don't know shit?" Ed said.

Singer grinned. "You could say that."

Ed noticed the shadow that blocked out the sun an instant before something large and black hit him in the right shoulder and unbalanced him. He instinctively flailed and bat at the huge raven with the automail arm, while protecting his face with the flesh. He dodged and weaved to get some space between himself and the bird, while swinging at it with his right arm.

The raven kept close, always behind him where it was difficult to swing. The talons scratched at his scalp and pulled at his hair, but didn't dig in as deeply as they could. Then with a final hard tug and a flap of powerful wings, the bird was off of him.

"What the fuck was that for?" Ed shouted at the bird as it landed on the back of the bench next to Singer.

Singer chuckled as he held out a hand and the raven dropped something into it. He then glanced Ed's way. "Raven has his price, as well." He held up what the bird had dropped in his palm. It was a thin leather thong with a pair of small glass beads on each end.

"What the…" Ed reached back and discovered his hair was loose and the tie he usually used to keep it up was now in Singer's possession. "Give that ba—" he snapped as he advanced on the other man, but the raven hissed and flapped threateningly and Ed lurched back with an arm up.

Singer pocketed the hair tie. "I'm afraid there're no refunds in Raven's world."

"Price?" Ed said through gritted teeth. "What the fuck for? And why the hell won't you tell me what you're doing here?"

"I just go where I'm needed."

Before Ed could respond to that, the raven started squawking and flapping his wings nervously. Singer watched calmly a moment, then said, "You're gonna need to run soon."

He faced Ed, and for the first time since the vagrant appeared, he looked completely serious.

0o0o0

"I'm sorry," the receptionist said, although Reilly didn't think she looked all that sorry. "Your check just isn't in here."

"Look again," Reilly said as her fingernails tapped out a frustrated rhythm on the counter.

The receptionist sighed and rolled her eyes. "I went through the stack three times already, Ms. Reilly. Your check isn't in there."

Reilly's hands came down hard and flat on the counter and she leaned forward. The receptionist –a young girl, and one she didn't recognize—leaned back as her personal bubble was invaded. "I don't give a rat's ass if you have to go through the stack ten more times. I'm owed a paycheck and I'm not walking out of here until either I get it or you find out where in the bloody hell it's at."

"Is there a problem, Aylah?"

The smooth, velvet voice set Reilly's teeth instantly on edge and she made it a point to turn toward the owner slowly. Jim Manheim, or 'Manny' as he insisted on being called, was the General Manager of this branch. He was young, ambitious, and very attractive. He also knew it. In the two years since she started at this place, she came to realize that he was quite adept at manipulation and had an uncanny ability to know just where any one of his employees weak spots were. It would explain the new receptionist. He seemed to have a new, pretty face in that position every month. It would also explain how the man managed to avoid a sexual harassment suit for as long as he had.

Reilly had succeeded in staying under his radar the whole time she'd worked here. Unfortunately, it looked like her luck had just run out.

"Mr. Manheim," the receptionist –Aylah-- said. "I can't seem to find Ms. Reilly's paycheck."

Manny gave her a smarmy smile and approached the desk. Reilly rolled her eyes when she saw the girl damn near melt. "Ah," he said. "That's my fault. I'm sorry Aylah, I should have alerted you. I have Reilly's check."

He finally deigned to give her some of his attention with a nod. "I need to speak with you, and holding your check was a guarantee that I could."

He reached out to lay a hand on the small of her back, ostensibly to guide her toward his office, but Reilly dodged the touch. He just gave her a slightly crooked smile that didn't reach his dark eyes and waved a hand toward the long hallway. She knew where his office was, she didn't need to be shown. She remembered very clearly when he had the short-arm of the L-shaped hall added in and his new office built. Mainly because she and several other employees had lost their spots in the cube-farm to the remodeling.

It was a fallacy that all the cubes for the customer service reps were exactly the same. The area that Manny had claimed for his new office was prime territory. There was plenty of natural light from the windows, and due to the location it was also the quietest spot on the floor. Those who were lucky enough to get the cubes in that area had defended them jealously. Reilly knew it was petty, but she had never really forgiven him for stealing that from her.

Her hackles rose as he followed her down the hall and she caught glimpses of the poor drones that were working through various inlets from the floor to the main hall. A couple of people she'd gotten on well with happened to glance her way and she half expected someone to start chanting "dead man walking" from the grim looks they gave her.

She turned the corner and tensed at the mahogany door at the end of the short junction. Solid, she was certain, as opposed to the oak-veneer, hollow-core, cheap-assed doors any other office had. It galled her, and she knew it was only to be expected in Corporate America. He had the office built six months ago, and the money that was used to build it was part of a bonus package the shareholders had agreed to when this branch of the Cable Company had exceeded their projected profits. The employees who'd actually made the money didn't see jack for it, though. Not even a piddly 'Thank You'.

The office wasn't really huge, but it was ostentatious. The mahogany desk dominated the room, as did the high-backed leather chair behind it. There were framed pictures scattered about the office --all aimed at whoever was sitting across the desk from Manny, she noticed-- of him in various outdoor activities. Hiking in Yosemite, fly-fishing in Alaska, and rock-climbing in Arizona were all interspersed with pictures of him accepting awards or shaking hands with various celebrities and politicos. All of them Republican, I see, she thought sarcastically. There was one other door which led to a meeting room, also mahogany; although the door that the peons used for team meetings that opened up to the floor was the cheap stuff.

There was one thing stood out in the entire office, and it wasn't actually in it. It was the brand new, bright yellow Hummer2 SUV parked right outside. Another part of the bonus Manny was given, and his pride and joy. It made Reilly's old beat-up truck parked next to it look positively 'Beverly Hillbillies' in comparison.

She tried to suppress the smirk at the thought that he was probably trying to compensate for a lack elsewhere.

Her nerves started to jangle when Manny locked the door and she shot him a distrustful glare. He gestured at a seat and said, "This is just so no one will disturb us."

She crossed her arms and remained standing. He just shook his head and dug in his pocket. Her expression went from wary to downright disgusted when he pulled his keys out and tossed them into the center of his desk. It was showing off, she was certain of it.

He gestured to the chair once more as he came around the desk and said, "Please. Sit down. I'm not going to bite."

"I don't intend to be here that long." Reilly held her hand out. "My check."

Instead, Manny sat, took a file from the top of the stack on one side and opened it. "You've been with us for two years. Is that right?"

She sighed, and crossed her arms again. "Mr. Manheim—"

"Manny, please."

"_Mister_ Manheim," she continued, "if there is a point to all this, please just get to it. I'm short of time."

He cocked a brow and closed the file. He folded his hands, rested them on top of it, and leaned forward slightly. "Very well. Your records and evaluations indicate that you've been a model employee until recently. Over the past month, you've frequently left early, called in, even quit at one point. I'm… concerned. If one of my valued employees is having personal problems that are interfering with their job performance, I want to know about it."

"No."

She caught movement over his shoulder, out the tinted windows. An unfamiliar sedan was slowly moving through the parking lot, like the driver was looking for something. The nondescript car in basic black and windows tinted so dark seeing inside was impossible sent alarm bells off in her head. _They wouldn't be that much of a stereotype… would they?_

Her response seemed to surprise Manny. "No? No, you're not having problems? Or no, you don't want to talk about it?"

"C, all of the above. D, take your choice. I don't care. It's not your problem," she said absently. Her attention was more on the sedan, which was now stopped right behind her truck.

"Actually, it is my problem. If one of my employees is involved in dangerous or illegal activities, it reflects badly on the company."

Manny's phone rang just as the driver stepped out of the sedan, and strode over to the back of her truck. "Yes? Thank you, Aylah. Have him take a seat in the reception area and I'll be right out."

Reilly almost laughed at the driver. He was dressed in the typical black suit with the standard black sunglasses and the wire hanging from his ear. Hysteria started to rise in her gut, and she briefly wondered if the man's name was 'Smith', or if he just went by a single initial. "You bastard," she whispered.

Manny hung up the phone and gave her a questioning look. She ignored him, and stumbled up to the window. _Feds, it had to be_. She quickly yanked the blinds down, and spun on Manny. "You bastard," she said louder.

"Just turn yourself in, Reilly. They can help you get out of this mess," he said calmly, but Reilly could see the nervous dart of his eyes toward the door.

She swooped in and pinned him to his fancy leather chair before he could get up and run for the door. Her knees were shaking and she was sure she probably looked insane right then. Terrified and furious, she fisted the front of his shirt and bounced him back against the seat a couple of times. "Why? Do you even know what you've done you stupid son of a bitch?"

"They said you were involved with a terrorist group," he choked.

"T-terrorist?! And you _believed_ them?"

Reilly didn't realize that she was twisting the fabric of Manny's shirt so tightly she was cutting off his air until his face became a rather interesting shade of purple and he started to claw at her wrist. She barely loosened her grip, keeping him pinned, but letting him breathe. She didn't need a murder charge on her head with everything else.

She heard Aylah pleading down the hallway at someone. "You can't go back there!"

She was trapped, but she was too scared to just stand still and await her fate. More out of frustration than planning, she hauled back and decked Manny hard in the jaw. His eyes rolled up and he slumped bonelessly out of his chair. She gulped and nudged him with a toe. When he didn't react, a short, sharp bark escaped her lips. She never thought she could hit someone that hard.

In her panic, she cast about for an idea. She wanted to escape, but she didn't think she'd be able to. Even if she could get out of the office, there was still the sedan that had her truck blocked. Her first instinct was to block the door, and she jumped over to the chair to jam it under the knob.

_Now what, genius?_ she thought as she heard someone rattling the door. She bit her lower lip as she cast a glance at the door for the meeting room and she wondered if she could sneak out of the building that way. Then she took a peek out the binds and felt her heart sink. She had an irrational hope that the other agent wasn't still blocking her truck, but there he was, large as life.

Then her eyes landed on the keys in the middle of Manny's desk and a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

0o0o0

_I don't have time for this! _

Ed ran through the old farmhouse, hunting for any and all evidence that he had been there and hurling it into the black duffel he had slung over his shoulder.

_Dammit, why didn't I think to pack before now?! _

Singer's visit had been brief, but very informative.

_"Danger's coming for you, and on swift wings." Singer was entirely serious, the playfulness gone from his voice. "Swifter than yours if you don't hurry, Butterfly." _

He stopped at the laundry room to grab the small pile of freshly cleaned clothing that was his and toss it into the bag dangling from his arm without bothering to do anything other than make sure it didn't go hurtling to the floor instead of to the bottom of the duffel.

_"Don't call me Butterfly!"_

_Raven had cawed sharply, and Ed had begun to glare at the bird. _

The Reichsmarks were still on the coffeetable from a few weeks ago. Ed grabbed those, shoving them into the pocket of his shorts.

_"Raven has decided that he will watch out for you." The blonde vagrant grinned, the expression slightly lopsided. "He likes shiny things. Remember that."_

_I don't need that annoying bird's help_, he thought as he ran to his room, scouring the place for anything of his that was there. Spotting the small latex toolkit Hughes had made, Ed grabbed it and shoved it in the bag with his clothes, along with the few extra sleeves they had made to cover his arm.

_Let's see, what else what else what else? Dammit, I don't have time for this!_ Hesitating in his room, Ed's eyes darted to the bookshelf, where several books still resided in a cluttered pile from his attempts to move them. Ed spotted some pictures spilling from one, and paused a moment.

_She's never coming back, if that smartass was right._ The album went into his duffel, as did the only pictures of his own family.

Ed grabbed for the pair of jeans he'd left in a pile on his floor, hurriedly pulling them on over his cloth shorts and shoving his feet into his boots, tossing the few pairs of socks on his floor into the duffel with everything else. With the shoes on his feet, Ed scrambled for the desk to grab the laptop carrier that had one pocket bulging with a DVD wallet, and the camcorder, before rushing to the closet and grabbing Reilly's already-packed bag, then sprinting out the door to hide in the tall grass and wait for her. He never noticed the piece of paper that worked out from the pocket of his shorts, down the leg of his pants, to land in the middle of the floor.

_Dammit, Reilly, get your ass back here, now!_


	18. Ch 17 Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

"**Let the Bodies Hit the Floor"**

**Arc One: Chapter Seventeen**

**Balance of Power**

**June 2, 2006 – 12:03pm**

**South Central Kansas**

Sidney couldn't believe his good luck as he calmly drove towards Bartlesville. His plans to trap the Elric brothers were going better than expected, and he even had some unanticipated help in getting the younger one in custody, thanks to his mentor.

That had been one encounter he hadn't planned on, but he was glad he had stopped for a sub-par cup of tea at that annoying coffee establishment. Thinking about the encounter as he drove the long stretch of K-15, a small sneer curled the edge of his lip…

o0o0o0o

"Well, fancy seeing you here."

His hackles rose at the unmitigated gall of the woman who dared to interrupt him in the middle of explaining to the dull-witted cow on the other side of the counter how he wanted his tea. The voice was all-too familiar, and that was the only thing that kept him from snapping her head off, both figuratively and literally.

In the space of a breath, he adjusted his expression to one he thought would be far less dark, and turned to see no one behind him. He clenched his jaw and adjusted his sight _down_. It never failed to confound him how someone so tiny could have a voice with that much confidence and -- he hated to admit it -- authority. Even when she was being… friendly. "Hello, Amber."

"Jeez, Sid, you don't have to act all enthused to see me or anything," the tiny woman groused, settling down in the booth directly behind him. "Hey, hurry up and get whatever tea you think you can stomach. I'm really glad you're here; I wanted to ask you a few things."

Ever since she'd trained him almost four years ago, his mentor had never shown an ounce of fear at Sidney's moods, despite the fact she knew how dangerous he could be when provoked (although not how dangerous he _really_ was. Oh, no. The only people who ever found _that_ out told no tales). Sidney thought it was a pity he couldn't show her the error of her ways, but his own superiors would be put-out to lose such a superb undercover agent. Besides, his mentor never asked for help unless she really needed it and that could be an advantage he could turn to his own agenda.

He gave up trying to describe to the gum-snapping imbecile taking his order how to make a semi-palatable cup of tea and just ordered off the menu -- something called "raspberry chai" that smelled very similar to one of those scented candles women seemed to favor -- and sat down across from Amber. "May I ask what you're doing in the area, Amber? Surely you didn't drive all this way just for a mediocre cup of tea."

Amber rolled her eyes and downed some of the coffee she'd ordered. "Hardly. I'm here on assignment. The higher-ups want me to investigate a bombing at a local hospital; they think it was a terrorist attack." She snorted in a most unladylike manner. "Of course, they'd think it was a terrorist attack if someone farted at a White House dinner party, but they think this one looks really fishy even though the prelim didn't turn up a damn thing. It wasn't that anyone was hurt, but it has something in common with a few other bombings that've happened around the country over the last four years."

Sidney sipped his tea and grimaced. It _tasted_ like one of those scented candles, too. "And that is?"

"Forensics can't pin down the accelerant." She picked a corner off her sandwich and popped it into her mouth. "For all intents and purposes, there isn't one, which has everyone scratching their heads, since the materials used _shouldn't_ explode without it." She swallowed and shrugged. "None of these bombings fit into a pattern. The devices used are all different; the targets don't even have anything in common. Hell, there isn't even a signature. But the Powers That Be are convinced they're all related by virtue of that one little thing." She took another sip of her coffee and pulled a face. Setting the cup aside, she said, "Ever since 9/11 they've been anxiously chewing their own tails anyway, but they might have something this time."

Sidney kept the expression on his face very bland, but he realized with cold certainty which bombings she was talking about. The fact that this tiny woman was currently assigned to investigate them was very bad, indeed. Of all the agents he'd had the misfortune to be forced to deal with in his time here, she was one of the most brilliant –the most capable of thinking outside the box, as it were. Unfortunately, the surest way to stop her from snooping too deeply wasn't an option at this moment, because she could still be useful. What Sidney needed was a red herring; something that would get her off the trail, albeit temporarily. He estimated that he only needed a little more time, and then this would all be academic. And if she figured out the truth before he could get back to Amestris, well… he could always take the other option. "So the higher-ups want you to see if you can catch who's responsible."

"Right. And I'm Agent Midget, so people aren't intimidated, nor will they be frightened enough to try lying to me." She picked up the sandwich and took another bite. "It's really annoying when people equate danger with height."

"Which hospital did this occur at? I wasn't informed," he asked casually, although he was certain at this point he knew the answer.

"Park City Medical."

_Beautiful_. Sidney knew he had his diversion and his own bomb had given it to him. It was elegant in its simplicity. He could get Amber off his scent for the moment, and keep the younger Elric under close watch. Disguising the newfound glee he was feeling, he took another sip of the horrid tea and laid his trap. "I've been there. That John Doe I was investigating is being treated there still. Perhaps you should pay him a visit."

He watched as Amber's eyes narrowed, and knew she was considering several different possibilities. He had little concern about being linked directly to _this_ bombing, since he was 'elsewhere' at the time it occurred –the use of alchemy on a time delay was an art form that few could truly appreciate.

"Why were you investigating him? You never told me," she asked, finally.

Sidney allowed himself a small smirk. "I suspected him of terrorist involvement. He did something to the road when he was hit that smacks of some sort of new weapon, but there wasn't enough evidence to have him taken away. Now might be a good chance to try and confirm his involvement, especially if they're developing weapons like that. It sounds like there might be a connection to your mysterious bomber and the kid."

"Really." Amber frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, then stood, taking her half-eaten sandwich with her. "I'll have to look into it. Thanks, Sid."

Sidney had watched his fellow Agent leave the coffeehouse, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Believe me, Amber. The thanks belongs to _you_."

o0o0o0o

Sidney took the left onto Highway 166 and headed east. With his miniature mentor keeping the younger Elric brat under surveillance, he was free to deal with the older, more dangerous—and far more useful—Fullmetal Bastard. Things were finally looking up for James Sidney Bond. He could practically taste the Ishbalan tea now.

0o0o0

**12:57pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

It didn't stand a chance in hell of succeeding, Reilly knew this, but she was committed. As she raced down the two-lane highway toward her house in a stolen Hummer, her mind spun in circles. From the moment Ed had arrived, soaking wet and dressed out of period, she knew this day would come. She just didn't expect it quite this quickly.

_Idiot_, she silently cursed herself. She knew she should have just taken Ed and gone to ground the moment her account had been frozen; then she wouldn't currently be trying to race the Feds to get to the kid and save his ass. _And for all I know, they have people there already. _

She'd panicked. There was no other way to explain her actions. After she'd decked Manny, she'd grabbed onto any chance of escape she could find. In this case, it was the keys to his new Hummer. Her truck was blocked by the Feds sedan, but the Hummer wasn't, and her only thought was, if she could make it to the enormous SUV she could get away. She didn't bother to think beyond that.

She groaned low at the thought. This was going to end badly, no matter what she did. _I should have just given myself up. Maybe they'd go easy on Ed then._

_Too late for that now._

The instant her hand had wrapped around those keys, she'd gone on automatic pilot. She slipped through the second door into the meeting room, and ran out the other side. There was only one way out from there without being seen by the Fed that was currently trying to kick Manny's door in. Unfortunately, it was like being a rat in a maze. She had to stay low and weave her way through the cube farm in a path that took her further from the way out at first. There was a straight shot to the service exit, but it was wide-open and she wouldn't have a chance of hiding if she took it.

She glanced up into the rearview, but didn't see anyone behind her. _This is bad. Of course, they don't have to stay on my tail_, she realized with a horrible, sinking feeling. _I'm driving a bright yellow Hummer with an active GPS tracking system. Oh yeah, I'll be able to get away. Suuuuure._

_And pigs can fly. StupidstupidstupidReilly._

It had been close. At first no one paid much attention to her because they were all acting like prairie dogs with their heads up, looking around to find the cause of the disturbance. That was, until a shot was fired.

Reilly had frozen. She had no idea where in the call center the retort had originated from, it echoed and distorted even with the sound-damping materials used for the cube-farm. She had managed to get as close to the service exit as she could under the little bit of cover she had. Now she was staring at a gap between her hiding spot and the exit that could have been as wide as the Grand Canyon for all the chance she had of making it.

After the initial screams and panic of the employees, there was a deathly silence. Reilly was certain that her heart was beating so loudly that it could be heard through the entire call center. Fear locked her into place. She knew if she didn't get to that exit, she would be caught. But she was afraid that if she ran for it, she would be shot. If the bastard was willing to fire a gun inside the call center, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her.

When she heard the explosive splintering of Manny's door, it felt like she'd been launched out of a cannon. She nearly leapt across the expanse and slammed into the service exit. She practically tripped over trash barrels and a cleaning cart as she charged down the short hall to the outside. She didn't think; she just shoved the things out of her way, and barely registered the crash and clatter as they fell over behind her.

As she burst out that last door, she slipped and pitched forward, the keys flying out of her hand to slide out of reach. She heard the inner door crash open, scrambled to her feet, and scooped up the keys as she ran. She heard the second door bang open and someone yelling at her to freeze. Instead she pushed harder and dashed around the corner of the building just as she heard a shot fired.

She hugged the building and stayed low behind the bushes as she made her way to the Hummer. It was only a few feet away, but it felt like a mile.

As she reached the passenger side of the Hummer, she saw the other Fed running to the sound of the gunshot. She dropped and rolled under the giant SUV, then out the other side. When she came up, she scrambled with the keys to find the one to unlock the door, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped them again. She kept low but peeked over the hood of the Hummer to see where the Feds were. _No time. There's no time. They're going to reach me any second._

What possessed her to forgo the key and just try the door, she'd never know, but she almost froze in wonder when she discovered it wasn't locked at all. She mentally shook herself and climbed into the SUV, then closed the door quietly. She stayed low while she went through Manny's keys for the one that would start the behemoth. She made the mistake up coming up when she shoved it into the ignition, because that exposed her to the Feds. She started the Hummer and slammed it into reverse at the same time one of them fired, sending a bullet through the windshield. Had she not ducked again, it would have hit her right between the eyes.

Without looking, she hit the gas and lurched backwards. There was a satisfying crunch and screech of metal as the rear of the Hummer clipped into the front end of the black sedan and shoved it out of the way.

She caught sight of one of the Feds coming her way and hit the lock on the door just in time. He grabbed at the door and tried to get it open and when that didn't work, he aimed the gun right at her. She pressed harder on the gas, causing the Hummer to lurch and throw the agent to the ground. She also felt the crunch of metal again as she backed into another car parked somewhere behind her.

She shifted into drive, sat up, and turned the huge vehicle. Unfortunately, doing so caused her to clip other cars parked there and she felt bad for about a second. She didn't have time to wallow in guilt. She had to get to Ed.

She didn't bother to take the actual exit from the lot, but instead jumped a low barrier, tore across the grass divider between the lot and the street, and leapt into traffic. Nor did she didn't bother trying to lose them or to take a round-a-bout route. She knew that if there weren't agents already at her house, those at the Cable Company wouldn't bother chasing her. They'd just go straight to Ed. They knew she'd eventually have to go home.

She was only a quarter mile from the turn-off to her home and still didn't see anyone behind her. Instead of relief, it made her heart sink. They already had people there. She was too late.

Then she saw the glimmer of black in the rear-view as it crested the hill. _Nope, there they are_, she thought. _Joy_.

She turned down the dirt road to her house with a sense of fatalism. One way or another, she was going to have to face them. But she wasn't going to do it without at least trying to protect Ed.

o0o0o0o

Ed saw the enormous, yellow... well, he had no idea what the hell it was, just that it was incredibly huge and it was coming down the road fast enough to kick up a rooster-tail of dust behind it. Mustang had taught him that sometimes discretion was the better part of valor, and he decided now might be a good time to actually put that lesson into practice as he slipped around to the other side of the house to hide until the yellow monstrosity _hopefully_ passed on by. Once hidden, he could hear it coming up the road, and he was in a position to see it as it passed by the house without being seen himself.

Except… it was slowing down. Not good, he thought, and looked around for some form of cover. As he took a step away from the wall to peek around the corner of the house, he felt a tug in his hair, and briefly thought that damned bird was back. The thought was instantly overruled by logic and the scratch of thorns on his hand when he reached back to free himself from the climbing roses he'd been leaning against. His eyes followed the trellis up the side of the house… to the roof. _Perfect_.

o0o0o0o

Reilly fish-tailed into the drive and it was only her quick reflexes, a heavy foot on the brake, and instinctive counter-steering that kept her from slamming into the garage. As it was, she ended up at a 90 degree angle once she finally stopped. She rolled down the window and tried to yell as she laid on the horn but choked on the dust she'd kicked up.

When Ed didn't come right out, she waved the dust away from her nose, laid on the horn again and opened her mouth to call him. His name mutated somewhere in the vicinity of her vocal chords to a startled, wordless squeak when there was a loud bang on the roof and then a fierce-eyed hell-cat landed with a crouch on the hood. His long blonde mane was wild, his lips pulled back in a snarl… he was absolutely predatory. It was only the automail arm with the deadly dagger protruding from it that enabled Reilly to recognize the savage in front of her.

"Ed! Stop jacking around and get in here!" she said when she finally swallowed her heart down out of her throat. "The Feds are on my ass!"

The change was instantaneous. His look went from murderous to merely injurious as he returned his metal arm to normal and bounced off the hood of the Hummer. Reilly closed her eyes and took a second to get her breathing back under control and think about her next move. She opened them at the sound of one of the back doors opening and saw her emergency duffel fly in. _How the hell_-- She didn't get to finish the thought, because as soon as a second duffle flew into the back seat, she saw the black sedan heading down the road. "We don't have time to pack the damned house. Get in n—"

"Go!" Ed said as he leapt in and pulled the back door closed.

Reilly threw the Hummer into gear and tore off through the yard as the black sedan spun into the drive.

o0o0o0o

Ed flinched as Reilly skidded around the corner of the house and clipped the corner of the shed. The space between it and the garden wall that Reilly was trying to thread the behemoth through was too tight and Ed ducked as bits of asphalt shingle flew in through the driver's window to bounce off his head.

"Stupid question," Ed said as he deflected a large, pointed shingle aiming right for his face. "But wouldn't it be faster to take the road?"

"I wanna lose the bastards," she said as she hit a bump that nearly threw him off the seat.

Ed scrambled to regain his balance and chanced a glance back to see the sedan fish-tailing around the corner of the house. "News flash, Reilly. It's not working."

He expected her to panic or cuss or… _something_ befitting the dire situation they were in. Instead he heard a low sound come from the front that took a moment for him to realize was a demented chortle. _Oh great_, he thought. _I have assholes behind me that want to dissect me, and I'm trapped in a tank with a crazy woman. I think my life expectancy just dropped to nil._

He felt her gun the engine as soon as they were clear of the tight conduit, then ended up in a tangle with a pile of ropes on the floor when she hit another bump. He struggled to get back into the seat, but was bounced back down again and his left hand slapped painfully down on something sharp and metallic. All thoughts of cussing out the psycho-woman behind the wheel disappeared when he pulled a ring of metal spikes from under the ropes. They looked different from what he was familiar with, but it was clear as to their purpose; he recalled seeing Havoc with similar gear once. "Hey, Reilly," he said. "Where did you get this thing, anyway?"

"I borrowed it."

"From a mountain climber?" he asked as he climbed back into the seat and laid flat on his stomach.

"Yeah. Why?"

Ed dug through the equipment on the floor with his flesh hand and felt a small, fabric bag under the ropes. He pulled the draw-string and peeked inside. Satisfied, he tucked it into a pocket and got up to take a cautious peek out the back window. He made a quick assessment of the lay-out of the short bed, noting the box resting against the cab under the window. At the same time he caught a glint of chrome from the edge of his vision as it came out of the passenger window of the rapidly gaining sedan. "Shit! Duck!"

He barely saw Reilly scrunch down before the bullet came through the rear window with a loud pop an instant before he heard the gun retort. "You okay?"

"I wasn't hit," Reilly said.

The vehicle bounced again and launched Ed backwards into the middle of the front seat. He was thrown into the center armrest and came down with it, wedged between the passenger and driver's seats. "Think you could find a smoother trail there?" he snapped as he twisted around the pull himself loose.

"This _is_ the smooth trail."

"That's comforting," he grumbled as he was jostled and wedged into the space tighter. When he finally managed to get turned over, he spied a half-full bottle of water in the cup-holder. "Ah!" he said as he snatched it.

"I don't know where that's been, Ed."

"I'm not going to drink it."

She spared him a brief, confused look, then flinched when another gunshot rang out.

"Trust me," Ed said as he wriggled his way to the back seat.

He cautiously came up on his knees and held tight to the back of the seat with his left hand as he balled the right one up into a tight fist. He absently noted that the seat was loose and hoped it didn't break at the wrong moment, but he had more important things to consider… like the best spot to hit that would get rid of the back glass.

"What are you doing?!" Reilly shouted, and they both ducked when another shot was fired.

Ed came back up and readied to shatter the window once more. "I gotta get rid of this."

"Idiot," Reilly said, and Ed stared as the back window slid down with a soft electric whine.

"Thanks," he said as he crouched down. He pulled the rosin bag from his pocket and held the drawstrings in his teeth as he unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. Fighting to keep his balance, stay low, and finessing the bag open took all his concentration. He tilted the bottle carefully –he only needed enough to turn the chalk powder in the bag into paste—and cussed when Reilly's driving caused him to spill a good portion of the water into his lap. Enough of the water made it into the bag and he pulled the strings to close it. Then he kneaded the bag until it felt like clay and a white film covered his hands. Dipping his finger into the sticky chalk, Ed kept low as he reached up to sketch an array onto the box. After several false starts due to rough terrain, he managed to get it the way he needed, then he disentangled the rope, grabbed the ring of pitons, and laid them in the middle of the circle. "Hey, Reilly. Slow down."

"What?!"

"Just trust me, okay?"

"You keep saying that, but I'm not feeling the comfort here, Ed," she said, but Ed felt the tank slow down enough that he wasn't worried about the material falling out of the array.

He chanced getting all the way up on his knees again. It was a risk and made him an easy target, but he only needed a moment to line everything up. Both hands slammed down on the edge of the array and the air around the yellow monster started to sizzle with concentrated alchemic energy that grew and then snapped tight at the nexus over the array. A whirlwind of static popped and crackled as excited particles were pulled from their original forms and were reshaped. The pitons, the rope, and the bed of the tank shivered, then buckled, and began to reform under Ed's hands.

Through the blinding blue-white light of the transmutation, Ed could see the panicked skidding and swerving of the black sedan and took some enjoyment at the terrified looks he imagined the agents probably had on their faces at this moment.

As the box with the array melted and became a part of the transmutation, he felt something pull at him from his left side. Like a sudden gust of wind that slammed into him, he was knocked nearly off-balance and his hair whipped around his face, blinding him. The light of the transmutation started to shift to a deeper hue and he looked on with horror at the form coalescing off to the side that was leeching energy from the array.

The harpoon launcher that had nearly completed forming was now dissolving before his eyes and the particles were being drawn into the amorphous form beside them.

"_Ohshit_," he whispered. "Reilly—"

"It's the Gate!" she shouted over the growing roar.

The energy swirled in a sideways vortex as it was sucked into the growing Gate, pulling the material from the tank into the dark, malevolent center.

"It's a rebound!" Ed shouted.

"Can you stop it?"

Suddenly the Gate collapsed into a tight circle no bigger than a fist, and all around it the earth bucked and rolled and began to shred as dust and stones and grass were reduced to their component parts and sucked into the event horizon of the black hole. The Gate became smaller and smaller, and the pull became more and more intense.

"Too late!" Ed held on tight as Reilly struggled and fought to keep the tank upright and moving forward. The motor whined and strained but it continued to beat back the powerful gravity of the concentrated Gate. The black sedan wasn't having as much luck and Ed could see it skidding inexorably forward.

The tank suddenly rocked back as if it had been released, and threw Ed against the door. The abrupt ending of the rebound and the silence that followed was more disturbing to him than the inadvertent black hole that was formed. "Reilly?"

"Gnng?" she mumbled.

"We might wanna get the hell out of here."

Ed was slammed back as she hit the gas and tried to put some distance between them and the collapsed Gate. He cast a look out the back and saw the sedan still just sitting there, then he scrambled into the front seat. He got settled in time to see Reilly break through a barbed-wire fence like it was thread and instinctively threw an arm up over his face. An instant later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and caught a flash from behind as a concussion slammed into them and shoved the yellow monster forward with a lurch.

Reilly hit the brakes and the tank spun in a 180. When the dust settled, they stared at the sedan as it sparked with fading static. The windows were frosted and the tires were melted. There was steam tumbling out from under the hood.

"I t-think it's safe to say they're not going to be following us," Ed stammered.

"Damn, Ed. Remind me never to piss you off, okay?" Reilly faced Ed, eyes slightly dilated from adrenaline. "How did we avoid that damn thing?"

"Distance and angle would be my guess," he said distractedly. "Let's just… get away from here."

"No problem."

o0o0o0o

Thirty minutes later, Reilly was navigating a rutted path through thick woods that was hardly wide enough for the Hummer. Ed was dozing fitfully in the seat next to her, and she worried about the dark smudges under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. That transmutation has drained him, and she wondered just what the effects were of that rebound. He needed rest, but she was going to need his help shortly.

She reached a clearing and the end to the path, put the Hummer into park, and killed the engine. She wasn't surprised this place hadn't changed at all, and it brought back a few pleasant memories. The old, burnt-out trailer was still sitting on blocks that looked like they would crumble to dust at the slightest breeze and the corrugated metal porch cover still leaned precariously to the right as it was held up only by four spindly supports and defiance. Through the trees and heavy undergrowth, she could see the blinking sparkle of sunlight bouncing off the river that ran behind the abandoned trailer.

She heard Ed yawn and sit up. "What're we doing here?" he asked.

Reilly didn't answer right off, lost in the memories of a place and time that was happier. Before her mother grew sick and weak and her father grew distant.

"Reilly?"

She pulled herself out of her musing and glanced over to the young man next to her. She felt a knot of guilt curl in the pit of her stomach when she saw just how worn out he was. "How're you feeling?"

He rubbed his eyes and yawned again. "Fine. Tired, but fine."

"I hate to ask this," she said. "But are you up to another transmutation… or three?"

o0o0o0o

Reilly stood back and watched as Ed squirmed and shifted on the floor behind the driver's seat, and heard the rip as he peeled back carpeting under the seat. The Hummer was once again whole, thanks to the porch cover that sacrificed its life to the replacement of the bed. It also sported shiny, new black paint, altered tags and counterfeit VIN. Both Ed and Reilly knew that if someone looked close, they'd be found out, but they hoped that the alterations would keep someone from looking for a little while, at least. There was just one last thing they needed to do…

"Okay, explain to me again why I'm wedging myself under the seat?" Ed said.

"We need to kill the accident-alert."

He twisted and sat up, shaking carpet fibers out of his hair. "I got that, but how does killing the brain to the crash-whatsit keep us from being found?"

"It's part of the GPS tracking."

"Think you could use actual words, instead of alphabet soup?"

She chuckled softly. "Global Positioning Satellite."

Ed scowled. "Okay, pretend I'm not from this era… which –amazingly enough—I'm not."

"Jeeze, Ed, I thought you were supposed to be some sorta genius." When his eyes narrowed dangerously, Reilly held up a hand. "Okay, okay." She pointed toward the sky. "The planet is surrounded by satellites that can pinpoint the position of anything, just about." She nodded at the Hummer. "The brain will send a signal if there's a wreck through a cellular signal."

"Like those little phones I see everyone yakking into all the time?"

"Bingo. We might be in a dead zone right now, and I can turn the signal off, but the GPS would still be able to track us, because the anti-theft system is tied into the accident-alert. It'll just be delayed for a little bit, and wouldn't be quite as accurate. But I can guarantee that Manny reported his little toy stolen as soon as he came to. If the brain is dead, the GPS can't track us. Well, they could, if they knew what they were looking for, but it would be damned difficult."

Ed rubbed the back of his neck and sighed tiredly. "And I have to make sure that the static doesn't spread beyond the brain box."

"Right, because then we're not going anywhere."

"Do you have any idea how tough that's gonna be? We're not talking about just stopping at the second stage here, but containing the resultant static that comes with a transmutation. It might be easier to just take the damn thing out."

"Can you?"

A slow smile crossed his face.

0o0o0

**3:24 pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Al couldn't help but smile in spite of his worry as he played his flute, to comfort the newest infant in the neonatal unit. The nursery staff had run out of ideas to help the newborn, who just would not stop crying, so they had sent for Al early. It had taken only a few moments of the small alchemist's playing before the baby had calmed enough to doze, and Al relaxed, soothing the little boy and his own nerves as he continued to play.

The nursing staff had been leery of letting him bring his flute with him at first, but after the first time Al had played for the children, the nurses had insisted he do it every time he came to visit. For some reason, the infants responded well to the deep, rich tones of the music, and some had even gotten better not half an hour after Al had left, while those who were not expected to get better didn't cry and slept the night.

Al wasn't sure why, but his music helped the children. So he played.

And despite his anticipation at finally being reunited with his brother that night, Al was soothed as well.

After he got tired of playing, he set his flute aside, scooping up the small, sleeping infant and cuddling him, stifling a yawn. The baby, meanwhile, slept deeper, his warm body snuggling against Al's. Al suppressed his smile, and peered at the child's wrist to find the name imprinted on the ID tag. "Hey there, Eric," he whispered as soon as he'd read the tag. "It's too bad your parents aren't here. They're missing out on something beautiful."

He studied Eric, smiling at the delicate hands that wrapped around his finger when he touched the child's palm. _I'm going to miss doing this when Ed gets here…_

"May I join you?"

o0o0o0o

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

The baby wouldn't stop smiling, even after he reduced the photograph into slow-burning ash. There were simply too many pictures of the same person over and over again on the walls. From all the photographic evidence, this Mary Reilly had been a happy child. The state records said something else entirely; her mother had been terminal and her father had been chronically absent. A real fucking heartbreaker of a story.

Sidney loved stories like that.

But somehow, he reflected as he sent another piece of nostalgic crap to a fiery demise, she had grown up to be a real survivor. Sidney was a real survivor too, and he generally respected anyone that could transcend a difficult environment. She'd outwitted his agents, which was no mean feat, and she'd somehow managed to vanish without a trace afterwards. It was something to be respected, so he'd made a point to ensure that she die a much more painful death than his less worthy opponents. When he finally caught up to her, what had happened to his agents would be a pleasantly quick affair in comparison.

He set another of the smiling photos ablaze. It really was so hard to find good help.

o0o0o0o

Al lifted his head at the question, surprised that someone else was in the room. "Huh?"

A very short woman in a nice suit smiled at him from the door, an infant cradled in her arms. "I was wondering if I could have a seat in here. This kiddo's getting heavy."

Instead of answering the implied question, Al studied the small child cuddled in the woman's arms. "They let you hold Cayleigh?"

"Yeah." The woman seemed to take the inquiry as an invitation and sat down in one of the other armchairs in the room, gently cooing at the cradled bundle in her arms. "She reminds me of my daughter, honestly."

Al blinked. "You have a daughter?"

The woman smiled, kissing the infant on the nose. "Yup. Little blonde toddler, but she's small for her age." She gave a wry grin. "Kind of like her mother."

Al took in the woman's height again, and giggled. _She's got a point. I didn't think I'd __**ever**__ meet an adult shorter than Ed._ Eric squirmed softly in his arms, and Al was distracted by the sick child, cooing and humming to soothe whatever was bothering him.

"You know, it's hard to believe you could possibly be a terrorist."

o0o0o0o

Sidney liked explosions. They were satisfying. Cathartic, even. He'd never gotten tired of them in Ishbal. He'd been newly commissioned as the Stealthworks Alchemist just in time to be sent in with the damage dealers, and he had developed an artist's appreciation for the work done there. He still remembered the Immolation fondly, the way entire cities collapsed one after another in fiery succession.

And the sky… it was like Hell had come to Ishbal in a beautiful Armageddon. He'd once read an old account of the end of the world, and the Four Horsemen had appealed to him in a way that few things did. War was his favorite, Death a close second. Famine and Plague were nice too, but they simply took too long. In Ishbal, all four had worked in close concert at the hands of the State's finest, and it had been as a perfect symphony of destruction in Sidney's eyes.

Even now the smell of burning things, the distortion of the air over flames, and the pathetic flailing of those that could not possibly escape the inferno struck a chord in him.

For a very long time, he'd worshipped Flame from afar as an idol of dispassionate death, but meeting the man had forever soured his appreciation for his work. Roy Mustang was a waste of a magnificent talent, repentant for the gifts he had been given and did not use. And for what? Some misguided sense of right and wrong? If Sidney had possessed such a skill, he would've used it in grand fashion. His mistake had been to say as much to the man, and now… Well. Mustang would suffer profoundly for what he had done.

Once Sid got back to Amestris.

It was another reason to hate the Reilly woman. She had the power of the Gates sitting at her fingertips, and one of the only people that had ever successfully crossed over and had any idea of the scientific implications. The Fullmetal Bastard would somehow find a way to get back, and Sidney refused to be left behind in this strange hell.

He tapped a finger on one of the most recent pictures on the wall and set a time-release transmutation on it. He loved explosions, but sometimes it was better to do things slowly. It would take extra care, because there was always a risk that the target would bleed out, pass out or die too quickly, and he wanted her to see every last spark. It wouldn't hurt if he could kill a few of the people in the photograph in front of her too, destroy her soul in the process. It added to the agony, and Sidney smirked at the thought.

"Mary Reilly," he addressed the picture, "I will burn your life and everything in it."

o0o0o0o

The simple statement caused Al to jerk his head up, eyes growing wide as he stared at the suit-clad woman, his heart beating faster. "What... did you say?" he asked, trying not to disturb his charge.

The woman smiled quite calmly, adjusting Cayleigh and leaning back in her chair. "How you act. The way you hold yourself. Hell, how much care you're taking with that little boy there. You couldn't possibly be a terrorist."

Al's eyes widened more, then he looked back at Eric. "It's about time someone noticed," he grumbled in relief. "Was that why you came? To see for yourself?"

"One of the reasons."

_Why else would she be here_? His eyes narrowed as he thought, and he was glad Eric was asleep and couldn't see his face. _Hmm... She's obviously investigating the bombing, but why would she have me as a suspect?_

He decided to listen more, and got more comfortable with Eric, letting the child hold tightly onto his finger. "Can I ask why I was a suspect? Or is that confidential?"

She laughed quietly, and Cayleigh made soft noises of happiness in her arms. "In my book you never were. Just had to cross the I's and dot the T's, yanno?"

"Huh?"

The woman giggled in a most un-adult-like way, and laid Cayleigh on her thighs, running her fingers up the child's instep to make the infant giggle and her toes curl. "Never mind, kid."

He frowned and watched the woman play with Cayleigh, and made a split-second decision.

"It was an inside job."

That caught the woman's attention. Instantly she was paying attention, all of her joking mannerisms forgotten. "The bombing?"

Al continued, looking her straight in the eye. "The Agent who was here before. He threatened to do things, hurt other people, because he thought I was hiding something." He gave a sigh, and looked down at Eric. "The problem is, I don't _remember_ anything, so what could I tell him?"

He heard her relax back into the armchair with a dull thud. "A catch-22. Damned if you do, damned if you don't."

Al was unfamiliar with the term but nodded anyway, sure he'd gotten the jist of it. "That's why I ran." He stroked Eric's cheek, and the babe smacked his lips in his sleep. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt on my account."

o0o0o0o

Sidney took his time walking out to where he'd left his agents. A glance at his watch confirmed that it would take another twenty minutes for all the slow-fuse transmutations to go, and he had time for quite a leisurely stroll. It wasn't like the agents would be going anywhere soon. He scoped out the perimeter of the property, and made a face when he found the remnants of the Gate. He could feel it, humming on the edge of his conscious mind, but he couldn't quite touch it.

He left the yard in a foul mood and strode back out to the still-smoking remains of the once black sedan. He was having a bit of a rough day, and he rather wished he hadn't killed the agents so quickly. He'd arrived to find them trapped inside their car with no way out. The cause of death of the unfortunate vehicle was, of all inventive things, an unfocused alchemic rebound that had fused the motor as well as half the metal in the car's body. Even the clasps in the seatbelts had been welded together, and the glass was an amorphous mess that spread and clung to the frame. From what little he could decipher from their panicked explanations, they'd rolled up their windows when all hell broke loose. As if that could protect them from the amount of alchemic energy they'd been caught in. _Idiots_.

It was an incredibly embarrassing situation, and Sidney didn't suffer fools to live.

Their only saving grace was how quickly the car had gone up in flames. It had been a spur of the moment decision, and the initial explosion had almost made up for their failure. But coming out of that house was a reminder of how inefficient they'd been in capturing the woman, and Sidney was in the mood for some good old fashioned torture.

The state of the car made him feel somewhat better. The glass of the windows had exploded outward, the tires had melted, and the interior was a singed wreck. It even smelled appropriately awful, like freeway wreck and over-burnt barbeque. It was an explosion well done, but it was all over too quickly. He glanced down at his watch --only twelve minutes to go-- and was turning to leave when he caught a hint of movement from the corner of his eye.

One of the agents was still alive.

Sidney smiled.

o0o0o0o

The woman hesitated for a moment or two, then nodded resolutely, giving Al a firm grin as she stood. "Thanks, kid. I'll look into it." She ruffled Al's hair as she passed, and walked out the door, Cayleigh giggling in her arms.

Even as she left, Al felt a burden lift from his shoulders. He cuddled with Eric, deciding to catch a nap while he still could.

o0o0o0o

Sidney had barely gone fifty yards down the road when he heard the first charge go off. He caught a glance in the rearview mirror, and slid a CD into the player. If this world had gotten anything right, it was the ability to create a perfect soundtrack for destruction. Sidney rolled the windows down, and cranked up the volume as the next transmutation blew out the front windows.

He had perhaps timed the transmutations too perfectly, as the third explosion fired off a few seconds later. He stopped the car, fast-forwarded through to the soaring arias, and stepped out for the grand finale. He had no idea what the titles meant, but the words set off in parentheses to the side explained it all.

Sidney leaned against the side of the car as _Götterdämmerung: Fliegt heim, ihr Raben, The Immolation Scene_ played gloriously on to the accompaniment of shrieking flames and bone-thrumming, drum-deep booms. They reached a perfect crescendo together as the final charge went off and Reilly's roof became a vertically-soaring wall of flame.

He watched for a few more minutes as the house twisted in upon itself in a firestorm of smoke and debris, and then got back into his car. It didn't exactly do to be present at the scene of the crime when the local authorities arrived. They always got the strangest ideas on culpability, and though Sidney loved to watch things burn he doubted he'd see much of that in a prison. Though, he thought, that did present some interesting opportunities…

Sidney left the windows down as he drove away, all the better to smell the hell on the air. The rest of the Immolation Scene wound down, and he listened in to the police bands as someone from the area reported the explosions. It was almost funny how pathetic they were, and he cracked a deadly grin. Now that he'd taken away the woman's safe haven, she and the automailed alchemist were on the run, and he had a fair idea of where they were headed. But first…

He reached over for a folder in the passenger seat, and pulled out a glossy photograph so freshly developed it still smelled like darkroom chemicals. He studied the image of a very familiar man in wire-frame glasses as he greeted a rather short young man, before he tapped a hastily drawn array in the corner. The photograph dissolved in his hand, and he let the dust blow out the open windows.

It was time to find Maes Hughes.


	19. Ch 18 Girl Your Mother Warned You About

"**I'm the Girl Your Mother Warned You About"**

**Arc One: Chapter Eighteen**

**Balance of Power**

**June 2, 2006 - 8:02pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

It had been a week since Hughes told Reilly he was moving in. A week since Ed had been attacked by the shadows. He'd stayed at her place every night since then, but he hadn't actually moved out of his small efficiency apartment until tonight.

It wasn't that he had much to pack. Maes Hughes had spent the past few years living like a monk. He'd never made the tiny apartment a home, never put any pictures up on the stark-white walls, never added any personal touches, had barely enough utensils to eat take-out. The microwave and the television were the only things that were used on a regular basis. In fact, the stove looked exactly as it did when he moved in. He'd lived for the past almost-four years as though the arrangement was temporary, and he'd finally decided it was time to let go of that notion.

Since he'd been pronounced dead, he'd dreamed of Gracia and Elysia at least twice a week, often three or four times. Always, they were vital, and alive, and behind a heavy, inches-thick door that towered so high the top was obscured by mist. In the featureless plane that was the land of dreams, he could see through that terribly solid door. He could see them; his girls, his light, his life. He could see them so clearly it hurt his eyes, his heart… his soul.

At first, the door was his ally. It was protection. It kept his girls safe from the horrors he was being forced to deal with. He could turn the knob at any time and join them on the other side of that door, but he didn't dare. Not at the time.

As horrible as he _thought_ the cancer was within the military, as a ghost he found out it was even worse. Those in command at the Northern Front weren't just his friends. They were his country's only hope. And they'd been sent there to die. They were the last roadblock to some New World Order being planned by the top brass. Hughes had no idea exactly what the actual plan was; his sources of information became thin almost as soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital and things moved very quickly after that.

It was a possibility that what the brass had planned would cut out the cancer, and set Amestris back on the right course. A possibility, but not a probability.

Hughes wasn't a gambling man. He preferred to put his money on a sure thing. His friends that had been shunted to the front line in another senseless war were that sure thing, and they were about to be eliminated.

The last bit of information Major Armstrong was able to get to him before he was deployed was sketchy at best. But Hughes figured out where in the puzzle the one piece fit. He had to stop it before it was too late.

The country to the north was alchemy-poor but mineral-rich, especially in the rare-earths. They had never been a threat before. In fact they had a decent trade-agreement with Amestris, but they also had physicists and their technological development was moving forward.

The gossips and rumor-mills of Central City whispered about the possibility of a devastating bomb developed by the North. When Hughes dug a little deeper, he discovered that they were nowhere near that point.

The plan was to have his friends die in battle along with thousands of other innocent soldiers and civilians. The top brass were going to stack the deck and make sure of it.

Hughes was almost too late when he caught up with Bond.

The alchemist-assassin had set the timer on a device that would wipe out the entire regiment in an enormous alchemic reaction without focus, but hadn't yet sent it off to the target. All Hughes had to do was prevent Bond from sending the device to the targets until it exploded. Their location was far enough away that the only damage would be to the landscape. The only casualties would be himself and the assassin. Hughes was already dead, though. Dying again wouldn't make a difference in the lives of his friends and family. But they would be able to finish what they had started. The cost was reasonable.

Maes Hughes wasn't an alchemist and he only had a vague understanding of it. He knew nothing of The Gate. Even after three years, seven months, two weeks, four days, and an odd number of hours, minutes and seconds on the other side of it, he still had no understanding of exactly what happened, or how he ended up where he did. All he could remember was the timer on the bomb reaching the end and then he was in some farmer's field in Northern Oklahoma.

He still dreamed of his girls on the other side of that door, but now the door was locked and barred. It was no longer his ally, but his enemy.

The dream shifted only slightly over the years. At first he would spend the entire time he was in the land of dreams screaming and banging on the door until his throat was raw and his hands bled. Then he would plead with the door to open. He offered to give his life for real if the door would only let him through, let him touch his girls just once more. Often, in frustration, he would dream of hurling knives at the door, or finding other ways to destroy it. Always, the door remained unscathed.

As he moved through this strange new world, a ghost once more, lying—about himself, about his family—he'd dream that he spoke to Gracia and Elysia through the door. He'd break down and cry and beg their forgiveness for hurting them so deeply. Always, they remained silent. He could only hope that they heard him and forgave him, but he wouldn't blame them if they never did.

Over the past year, he no longer fought the door, no longer tried to open it. He'd finally come to understand that this would never work. All he could do was wait. He couldn't open the door. He didn't have the ability. If the door ever opened again, it would be by its own choice.

He resigned himself to just standing in front of it when he was there and just observing his girls. Wondering about them. Had Gracia moved on? How was Elysia doing in school? The tears still came in the dreams, but they'd dried up long ago when he was awake. They were gone, out of his reach. All he had left was this time, while he slept.

Then Ed came to him in that featureless plane, entreaty in his gold eyes. "We're all a part of whatever world we're in. We don't have a choice but to interact with it," he said in a voice that had matured.

"You can't go back." Ed grasped his shoulder and pointed behind him. When Hughes turned, he saw another door that stood wide open. "You can only go forward."

Hughes had never seen that door before. _Had it always been there?_ He walked up to it and looked through. Beyond was life. And there were people there. Old friends, Ed and Al. New friends, Ducky, Tom, the people he worked with at the studio… and Reilly. They called to him and waved him over. They invited him to join them, but a feeling of fear settled deep in the pit of his stomach and he couldn't cross the threshold.

He saw Ed and Al hanging off of each other's shoulders, shining brightly and happy. The brothers, united and whole, called to him the loudest, but it was Reilly who was nearest. She was quiet and waiting patiently for him. He watched her turn to the brothers with a brilliant smile, then she took one more glance back and walked away. She didn't leave; she put herself in the background.

Life was through that door and it terrified him more than anything he had ever experienced.

_If I go through that door, will my girls be forever out of my reach?_ he wondered.

He felt the firm grip on his shoulder return and Ed was beside him once more. "They're already out of your reach, Hughes. They have been since you crossed The Gate."

He jerked around again and felt himself quail. Gracia and Elysia… his girls, his life, they were fading, becoming shrouded in a mist. "No!" he cried, and stumbled to the door. "No! Come back! Please…" he banged on the door in desperation, but he knew it was fruitless. He sagged to his knees and let his forehead fall against the unyielding barrier. "Please," he sobbed. "Don't let me lose this. It's all I have left of them."

He felt Ed next to him once more. He didn't want to look at him. He couldn't bear it.

"You won't lose them," the young man said softly. He felt a hand rest over his heaving chest. "They're here. They'll never completely fade."

Over the next two weeks, when he dreamed of that door, it grew further and further away, but Gracia and Elysia remained as they were, mist-shrouded, but there. The open door was always right within reach, but he couldn't cross the threshold.

When Ed appeared next to him again, Hughes asked him why he couldn't cross.

"You're not letting yourself."

He was nearly blinded by a golden light and thought at first it was coming from Ed. Then he felt heat on his left hand and brought it up to look. His wedding ring was the source of the heat and the light.

"You have to let go," Ed said, then he went through the door.

For the first time in years he cried while he was awake. The tears fell unnoticed at first as he stared down at the open wallet in his hand; at the dog-eared picture within that he'd kept on him since he'd 'died'. Then he downed the last of his sixth bottle of beer, stuck the fourth finger of his left hand all the way in his mouth and slicked it with his spit. It was salt-bitter from his tears, and he grimaced at the taste.

He tore at the ring, pulling at the one thing that held more meaning to him than his own life. It refused to come off easily, stopping at the knuckle. He twisted it back and forth as he forced it over the pinched flesh, not caring about the pain as it scraped his skin. Then it broke free and it nearly flew from his grasp. He clenched his hand around the ring desperately, his heart pounding at nearly losing something so dear, and held it close to his chest until his heart and breathing calmed.

Hughes read the engraving inside one last time; _You are my heart and my life, eternal as a circle_. He whispered, "I hope your lives are happy, Gracia… Elysia. I love you," as he dropped the ring into the plastic sleeve with the photograph of his wife and daughter. He couldn't bring himself to actually say 'good-bye'.

The wallet fell to the table as he covered his eyes with a left hand that now felt horribly naked and raw. Then the stillness of the small apartment was broken by his choking, ragged sobs.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up. The apartment had grown darker and he no longer felt the buzz of the cheap beer. He felt groggy, puffy and queasy, but he also felt that the worst of the pain had finally ended. He was ready to move forward now.

He took a shower, then finished packing the last of his clothes. He dropped the key off with the landlady downstairs and told her that she was welcome to the stuff he left. He no longer had any use for it.

The sun had set and night was approaching when he tossed the bag into the back seat next to the gym-bag full of paintball equipment. He smiled a bit and hoped he'd have a chance to let Ed pay him back for his humiliating defeat in the near future.

It still hadn't reached full dark when Hughes slowed for the turn down Reilly's road, but it was dark enough that he could see the lights from emergency vehicles a mile down. His heart pounded, and he had to consciously keep from pressing down on the gas.

He was waved to a stop by a police officer a hundred yards from the drive and he rolled down his window. The young woman leaned in and said, "Sorry, sir, but we can't let you get any closer to the crime scene."

"C-crime scene?" Hughes said, and felt his stomach flip. "What happened?"

"That's being investigated right now. We don't know for certain, yet." Her expression became questioning, but not suspicious. "You family?"

Hughes swallowed and stared down the road at what was left of Reilly's house. What he could see of it between fire trucks and police vehicles looked like it had been completely destroyed. "Yes," he whispered. He faced the officer. "Yes," he repeated, louder. "Reilly was… is my… girlfriend." _Well, it isn't entirely a lie. We __**are**__ friends._

Hughes felt the bottom drop out of his world and his vision go black along the edges at the look of pain on the young cop's face. "OhdearGod," he choked. He stared wide-eyed at the remains of the house and just shook. "Please tell me they got away."

"I… I'm sorry," she whispered. When Hughes turned to her, he could see she was fighting to keep her professionalism. _A rookie_, the investigator and soldier in him couldn't help thinking. Even through his anxiety of not knowing for certain if Ed and Reilly had escaped, he couldn't stop that part of his mind from working. _This is probably her first time to deliver bad news like this._

Very carefully struggling to keep the fear out of his voice, he asked, "Did you find their bodies?"

She swallowed and didn't answer. In the lengthening silence, Hughes caught sight of a flat-bed tow-truck pulling out of the drive, a smoking hulk of a sedan carried on its back. _It can't be them. Please, if there is a God, don't let it be them._

He put the car in park, shut off the engine, and opened the door. The woman stepped back. "We haven't found any bodies in the house, but we found the car in the middle of the field," she said. "It looked like someone was chasing them." He barely listened as the tow-truck neared them. He stepped into the center of the road and waved for it to stop.

"I don't think you want to do that," the officer said. "There's not really anything left to identify until DNA tests and an autopsy can be run."

When the truck came to a stop, he said to the officer, "I need to see for myself. Please."

She thought about it, then nodded. To the driver, she said, "Let him look."

Hughes pulled himself up on the platform next to the car and lurched back at the stench of charred flash. He pulled his shirt up over his nose, and looked around the outside, delaying the inevitable –avoiding the gruesome sight within. He could feel the heat that still clung to the sedan and gave it a cautious tap. It had at least cooled enough to touch at this point.

The vehicle was unfamiliar, and unidentifiable as anything but a generic sedan. _Government issue_, Hughes thought. _Feds_. There wasn't any paint remaining, and the tires had melted into an amorphous mess. The glass was mostly gone and spiderwebbed where what little remained had fused into the frame. The hood, however, sent a thrill of fear through him. Burned mostly away and unidentifiable to anyone not knowing what they were looking at, was a partial hint of an array. One Hughes was vaguely familiar with.

_This whole scenario is wrong_, he thought. _Ed would never go to these extremes, even if his life was in danger. He'd disable them, but leave anyone chasing them alive_. He squinted and leaned closer. _No. Not Ed. The pattern and symbols aren't right_. The only other possibility could be…Hughes stopped. He didn't want to consider the other 'possibility' yet.

He steeled himself and reached for the door of the sedan. When he tried to pull it open, it wouldn't budge. A closer look in the fading light showed him that it was welded shut and the soot and shadows within wouldn't afford him a good look. He turned to the officer who was still on the ground. "Can I borrow the flashlight?"

She reluctantly tossed it up to him, but didn't try to dissuade him. Hughes took a deep breath and readied himself, then turned on the light and shined it into the warped, gaping hole that was once the windshield. What light penetrated the soot illuminated enough that he felt his gorge rise. The two bodies that had been immolated inside the car were still sitting upright, melted into the seat. Any actual identifying marks had been burned away; it was impossible to tell if the victims had been male, or female. Images of Ishbal came back to him in a rush, and he felt his knees begin to buckle.

There was something terrifyingly familiar about the condition of the sedan. He'd seen enough intelligence photos to know that Roy Mustang wasn't the only one who could do something like this. The scene smacked of Bond and Hughes had to acknowledge it. _The array on the hood is his_. For one very brief moment, he actually wished that Ed _had_ been responsible for this destruction. The idea that Bond was on their asses terrified him and made the possibility of the charred forms inside being Reilly and Ed so much more real.

"Sir, are you alright?" the woman called up to him, pulling him back to the here-and-now. Instead of answering he forced himself to look again. His answer was there --even if he couldn't tell much-- and he was putting the pieces together. There was just one thing he had to make absolutely certain of.

He swallowed and forced himself to really look at the bodies. He knew it would have been too much to hope they'd died easily before they had been burned and he was at least grateful that there wasn't anything remaining of their faces. He didn't think he could take it if he had to see the horror frozen there as they realized they were going to die in the worst possible way imaginable. _And knowing that sadistic bastard, he probably made sure they died slowly_. He shined the light down the torso of the driver and saw one hand fused to the wheel and the other grasping at the door handle. _Or not?_ He aimed the beam over at the passenger, and saw that this one was hanging onto the door with both hands. _Trying to escape. Both of them. They saw it coming, but their deaths were instant._ Hughes rubbed his chin and furrowed his brow. _If they died that quickly, then Bond was pissed_. At this moment, he couldn't tell if that was good or bad. He shined the light down at the driver again, this time lower, then quickly turned it back to the passenger, again aiming the light low.

_Four arms. Four legs. And Bond pissed off enough to flash-fry them._

This time his knees did give out and he sunk down to the platform.

_It's not them. Thank God it's not them. They got away. _

0o0o0

**11:52pm**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Hughes pulled into the muddy patch of space that passed as a parking lot for _The Bohemian Coffee House_ and hit a water-filled pothole deep enough to jar his teeth. For what was possibly the hundredth time since he started to navigate the maze of one-way streets that made up the city's warehouse district, he'd cursed Reilly for her choice of contact spots. The place was next to impossible to find, unless you knew exactly what you were looking for and he'd missed it more than once. It didn't help that while the front of the building faced a main thoroughfare, all indications that this was a thriving business were around the back, only accessible down a dark, narrow street.

After he'd confirmed that the bodies in the sedan were not Ed and Reilly, Hughes had driven straight to Tulsa and checked into a cheap motel. Then he walked the two blocks to a nearby convenience store and made a call to a cellphone number Tom had given him that didn't belong to him, Ducky, nor Reilly. He left a short, cryptic message on the voice mail, then returned to the room to wait. The instructions were to meet up with his contact at midnight at the coffee house. With the round-about method of getting the message to Tom and Ducky that Reilly and Ed had run, Hughes could only hope that nothing got lost in translation. He knew it was going to be a long night and he should be conserving his energy, but with everything that was spinning around in his head, even a short nap would be elusive. All he could do, was lay on the bed, stare blindly at the ceiling, and try to sort everything out. There were so many questions that needed answered. The biggest being, _how is Bond connected to Ed?_

_How would he have discovered that Ed was here, and how would he even know who he was? And what does he want with him?_ The most obvious answer to the last question was that the assassin thought Ed might get him back through the Gate. Unfortunately, that did nothing to shed any light on the rest of the puzzle. It was possible that Ed might know. But he wasn't going to find that out until he could catch up with them. Hughes was a patient man, but this night was eroding that patience quickly. He couldn't keep the thought that Bond was closing in on those two out of his head, and the only thing that stopped him from going out and searching the streets of Tulsa was the knowledge that it was very likely they weren't even in this city.

He shut off the ignition and looked at the old 2-story brick building that was attached to an empty, metal-sided warehouse. _First impressions are not always right_, he realized when he saw the fire escape balcony was freshly painted with window boxes and potted plants decorating it. The brick part of the building looked like it was well maintained and there was a large patio set up with tables that were already filled with customers, most of whom were a bit of a shock.

Black seemed to be the dominating color of choice for clothing here, along with chains, leather, and a few spiked collars. Hughes saw several kids milling around with hair in colors he'd only seen in fevered dreams.

"Great," he mumbled as he opened the door. "Reilly sends me, Mister Disgustingly Normal, into a den of freaks. Way to blend in."

He sighed, stepped out of the car, and nearly lost his balance when his foot went further down than he'd anticipated. The instant he caught himself, he felt the cold chill of muddy water soak through his shoe and pants-leg. He groaned down in disgust at the pot hole that nearly swallowed his car a moment ago and was now working on devouring him. "Well, this evening is starting out just great."

With acrobatic skill, he managed to get the other foot out of the car and on solid ground without soaking in it or falling face-first in the mud. Once both feet were on the same level he headed toward the coffee house, shaking his drenched foot at every other step. Then as soon as he reached the fence surrounding the patio, he felt a knot of anxiety tangle in his gut.

They were all. So. Damned. Young. Out of all the customers hanging out, behaving like they'd known each other since they were small, not a one could have possibly been much older than Ed. This whole set-up was beginning to look like the classic Very Bad Idea.

Reilly had insisted that this was a safe place for a contact meeting if something happened and she and Ed had to run. Hughes had no choice but to trust her on this. He considered himself lucky that no one actually paid any attention to him as he dodged and wove around kids with more metal on their clothes and faces than he had in his pocket.

Once inside, he had to squeeze through the press of bodies waiting in the narrow entry hall for the bathroom in order to get to the main room of the place. He received more than a few lecherous looks, from both women and men, and he was certain a few nudges and brushes were quite deliberate.

He was finally able to take a breath once past the hall and took a quick glance around. He wasn't certain how he'd recognize 'Kitten', but Reilly said he'd know her when he saw her. For some reason, that did nothing to ease his apprehension.

The place inside was hardly what he expected. It had a casual look, but not seedy. Almost like someone had turned their basement into a huge party room. There was an old upright piano with an acoustic guitar resting on top of it, couches scattered about, even a few old footstools. One section had been converted into a cyber café, with wrought-iron patio tables and chairs and there was a small stage in the center.

The place was buzzing with people wandering about talking to people they knew, hugging, or cuddling on the couch. Even a few people were sitting on the carpeted floor around an enormous coffee table that looked like it had been made from a single stump of an incredibly large tree. There were murals on the walls and ceiling, a few tables where people were playing chess, even a nook filled with books and a pair of comfortable old recliners.

_This is not your typical trendy restaurant_, he thought. There was a slight amount of relief when he spotted a few normal-looking and older people in the crowd. _Maybe I won't stick out too badly, after all._

He found an empty table and settled in to wait. A young blonde man that looked like he could be blown away at the first stiff breeze approached him with a pad of paper in hand. Hughes was stunned at just how similar he looked to Ed in the fine-boned facial features and big, expressive eyes. But while Ed was short and wiry, this boy had a tall and willowy build.

"Hey, welcome to The Bohemian. What can I get you?"

Hughes's mind went completely blank. There was no menu, so he had no idea what was available. "What do you recommend?"

The boy shrugged and gave him a friendly grin –_Dear God, are those… __**real**__ fangs?!_—and said, "Personally, I love the cinnamon raspberry vanilla cappuccino."

"Sounds good to me, I'll have that. What's good to eat?"

"First timer, huh?" The boy grinned wider and Hughes was absolutely certain those were fangs… and they didn't look fake. "If you're just wanting dessert," he said as he pointed back at the cash counter and the large pastry display case next to it. "The best are the cheesecake, the tiramisu, and the Boss made a kick-ass apple pie today."

_Apple pie?!_ He was almost tempted, but the feeling of his heart lurching quickly made him change his mind. He didn't think he could eat anyone else's apple pie but Gracia's. He shook his head and said, "The cheesecake will be fine, thanks."

As the young man walked off to get his order, Hughes felt a pair of slender hands on his shoulders and before he had a chance to react, there was a gentle puff of hot breath then the tip of a tongue sliding up the shell of his ear. He involuntarily shivered and was stunned frozen for the merest instant. That was enough for him to find his lap and arms suddenly filled with a voluptuous young woman with bright lavender, shoulder-length hair, vivid gold cat-slit eyes, and a black satin corset that enhanced two of her most prominent features.

Any possible form of coherent thought flew off to parts unknown as he just stared at her seductive smile. She purred and fingered that one errant lock of hair he could never keep out of his face. It made him think how much she seemed like a large, fluffy cat…

His brows shot up. "Kitten?"

"You know, you're just as yummy as Pandora said you'd be," she said.

"Y-yummy?"

"Well, her words were more like, 'Cute, cuddly, and if you try to molest him, I'll tell Ducky you have the hots for him'."

He laughed. "That sounds more like something Reilly would say." He placed his hands on her waist and attempted to politely remove her from his lap, but she wasn't budging. "You… might want to get up now. I don't think this is what she intended when she asked you to get in contact with me."

She wriggled just the slightest bit and gave him a wicked grin as his breath hitched and his fingers clamped tightly on her waist. "Hmmm. You know, from where I'm sitting, I don't think that would be such a good idea." She leaned in close and spoke softly in his ear. "If I get up, everyone will know just how blessed you are."

His face went hot and tight and he groaned low, more from embarrassment than anything else. He closed his eyes a brief moment, got his scattered thoughts under control, then gave Kitten his most wicked grin. "I'll just have to take that risk, won't I?" he said mildly. "Now, if you don't get up, _I'll_ tell Ducky you have the hots for him, myself."

She pouted and didn't move at first. Hughes suddenly forgot she was there, though, because his attention was drawn to someone at the register. The man had his back to him at first, but there was something about the stance that was far too familiar. There was no mistaking that ram-rod stiff posture, the bald head, or the overly superior tone of voice that drifted over the low murmuring of the crowd.

_Bond_.

With an annoyed huff, Kitten started to rise but Hughes grabbed her hips and held her down. "On second thought…"

With a lusty purr she bent down and kissed him with a skill that took his breath away and wiped out any thought of protest. Almost by pure reflex alone, he responded to her playfully probing tongue; allowing her in and relishing in the sensuous glide along his own. All he could sense at that moment was heat and electricity that vibrated him down to his toes.

A low moan rumbled deep in his chest and his arms tightened around her; pulling her closer. _Ooohfuuuuck_.

_Wait. No! Way wrong word_, he thought, trying to get his whirling mind to slow down. He had to focus on something much more important.

_Thinkunsexythoughtsthinkunsexythoughts… Last thing I need is to be seen by Bond…_

…And that broke the hold she had on him.

He pulled away from her; panting and wild-eyed. She smiled, insufferably pleased with herself, but his eyes slid past her to see that Bond was still at the register. The man was beginning to fidget and Hughes sincerely hoped that whoever was waiting on him finished up with him soon. He didn't want to see what Bond would do in a fit of pique here. He'd seen it too often before and the end was never pretty. Reilly's house and the bar-b-qued sedan was proof that he hadn't mellowed with his exposure to this world.

The girl behind the counter stepped away from the register and Bond turned. Hughes yanked Kitten down and buried his face in her neck. She purred happily and ran her fingers through his hair. He nuzzled at her ear and watched the counter through her impossibly lavender hair. "Don't look," he whispered and wrapped his arms tighter around her to keep her from doing exactly that. "There's a man at the register that I want to avoid."

He felt her tense and her warm breath in his ear. "Someone after Pandora and the hottie?" she asked, all hint of seduction gone from her voice.

"Yeah. How do I get out of here without being seen by him?"

"Leave that to me. Just keep your nose buried in my neck for a moment."

"Huh?"

"Just trust me." He did as she said and felt her shift in his lap as one arm left his shoulder. There was absolutely nothing seductive about the movement this time; it felt more like she was gesturing to someone behind him. Then she leaned back down and whispered, "And if you get an urge to nibble while you're there, I certainly would not complain."

"Ha-ha. No."

She actually giggled at that. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

Hughes kept his face buried in her neck, all the while watching Bond with one eye. He sensed another presence behind him and tensed. Kitten felt it and said in his ear, "Easy Lover, Gretchen is a friend of mine. Just play along."

_Play along? Why does that scare the hell out of m--_ He suddenly forgot how to breathe when he felt a soft, hot mouth on his neck that was most definitely not Kitten's and a hand snaking around from behind him and down the front of his shirt. His eyes went wide and he gulped. "Um… as flattering as this is, it really wasn't what I had in mind, ladies."

The hot mouth left his neck with a light nip and a low, lusty chuckle. There wasn't much relief however, because Gretchen's breath puffed on the damp flesh as Kitten whispered in her ear. Hughes couldn't hear what was being said, but it was brief and he felt the tickle of hair when Gretchen nodded.

Bond was growing more impatient as he waited at the counter. Hughes was grateful for the delay, but fearful of what would happen if it went on too long. He was also very grateful when he felt Gretchen stand and step back from him.

He thought he might actually be able to breathe now.

"Don't worry Honey," Gretchen said in a voice far deeper than he expected. "I'll tell Spike and then we'll get the distraction started."

Hughes then came to the stunned realization that the rather tall, raven-haired 'woman' who sauntered into his line of sight and toward the counter was no woman. This must have transmitted itself to Kitten, because she started to giggle. "Gretchen is a trans, Darling."

"T-trans?"

"Transsexual. She has one more surgery and then she'll be all woman."

He had no idea just how to respond to that. Especially since Gretchen had a damn fine pair of legs and one hell of an ass.

Instead he occupied himself and his overwhelmed brain with watching Bond and the show Gretchen was starting.

He could hear Bond's voice growing more impatient with the slow service and he tensed when he saw the man start to nervously fiddle with his wristwatch. There was something odd about the gesture and then Hughes realized with an icy certainty that the watch was most logical place to hide a personal array. _If he gets serious with that thing, the game is up_, he thought. _I won't let him blow this place and all these kids up._

He caught sight of the willowy blonde waiter as he was coming around the counter with a tray. Gretchen moved in behind Bond and Hughes shifted in a vain attempt to keep the assassin in view. He caught a subtle gesture from the woman and a glance toward Bond by the waiter. Then the boy headed to his table, set the coffee and cheesecake down, scribbled something hastily on the ticket, and left without another word. All the time, Kitten was wrapped around him like a blanket, doing a damn fine job of acting like they were making out while keeping him shielded.

Hughes started to wonder just who some of these people really were. They were working together like they'd been a long-standing team with almost military precision. He stretched his arm out and grabbed the ticket. There was a note.

"What's it say?" Kitten asked.

"Sixty seconds."

"Damn, Spike's getting slow."

"Huh?"

He never heard what she said, because he saw the blonde sneak back into the kitchen. A moment later there was a crashing sound from there and a screaming match started. _What the hell?_

The effect was instantaneous. The entire coffee house went quiet for the space of a heartbeat and then as a single entity, nearly everyone clamored up to the counter to see what was going on. It was simple and brilliant. Bond was effectively trapped by the press of curious onlookers and Gretchen had the perfect position with her height, to block Hughes's escape from the assassin's sight.

Kitten sprung off his lap, grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the front exit. "Wait, my car's out back," he protested.

"We'll get it later, c'mon."

They were halfway across the coffeehouse when he heard a bellowed, **"HUGHES!"**

_Ohshit!_ he thought as he chanced a glance back over his shoulder.

Bond was roughly shoving people out of his way and doing his damnedest to get out of the packed mob. Hughes only caught a glimpse of Gretchen latching onto the assassin and then being slung back into the pastry case next to the counter, shattering the glass front.

Kitten cried out and started for her friend, but this time it was Hughes doing the pulling. "No time Kitten. We've got to get out of here, now."

They hit the front door running, slamming it open so hard it dented the steel and rebounded back. As they reached the end of the sidewalk a thirty year-old metal monster screeched to a stop and the passenger door flew open. At the same moment, Hughes caught the bright yellow glow of alchemy from the corner of his eye. He yelled "Get down!" to the driver and threw Kitten to the ground, shielding her with his own body as the coffee house door exploded onto a million fragments.

As soon as the wind from the explosive concussion blew past, he looked up toward what remained of the doorway and saw Bond clasp the frame with one hand as the band around his wrist glowed. There was another bright yellow flash, as the frame morphed into something else altogether. He didn't hang around to find out what Bond was transmuting; he just pulled Kitten up, flung her into the car and dove in after her.

"Get to the hotel, Spike," Kitten said, as Hughes squirmed around to get upright. It was only as he did that he realized there was no more yellow glow and he looked back to see Bond just standing on the sidewalk lighting a cigarette.

"This isn't good," Hughes said when he couldn't see anything else in the man's hands. The bastard never wasted a transmutation. Then a cold chill trickled down his spine when he realized he didn't see _anything_ back there.

He gulped, rolled down the window and stuck his head out. He looked back and down, where he was blind previously. "Oh HELL!" he said again when he finally spotted a clockwork 'spider' about the size of a German shepherd gaining on the sedan. "Floor it!"

"You got it," Spike said and Hughes heard the big eight-cylinder engine growl. He chanced a glance at the driver of the sedan. 'Spike', he discovered, was his willowy waiter and the boy had a ferocious grin that bared his fangs.

"How fast can you get?"

"On this road? Fifty, tops. Too many hills and curves."

Hughes leaned back out of the window and saw the spider closing the space between them. Fifty wasn't going to be fast enough. He knew Bond's clock-work bombs could reach that easily. "Too slow. That bomb'll catch us any second."

"Bomb?" Spike squeaked.

Kitten looked at Hughes, wide-eyed and pale and he was painfully reminded that distractions and pranks were one thing, but these kids were still _kids_ and they were in serious danger. It wasn't fun anymore.

Kitten stammered then got herself back under control with a grim determination. She pointed out the left side of the car. "Highway."

Spike nodded, his face tight. A moment later, Hughes was thrown sideways when the boy made a sharp left turn and had to scramble to grab hold of the dash in front of him when the door flew open. Once he had himself righted he stretched to grab the handle and barely had time to jerk back when Spike sideswiped a telephone pole with the door, slamming it back shut. Then the boy overcorrected and slid the left side of the car along the retaining wall of the on-ramp, throwing sparks everywhere.

Hughes leaned back out of the window and saw the spider continue on its original heading. Then it spun and zeroed in on them. It launched itself for the sedan with more speed than before, leaping up onto the right side retaining wall and skittering after them. "Better give it more gas, Spike!" Hughes said.

The car sped faster up the ramp, but the spider doggedly kept closing the space between them. "Shit! Don't let it get ahead of us!"

"What is that thing?" Kitten asked.

"It's a robot. If it gets ahead of us there's no way we can get around it," Hughes said. "It'll attach itself to the car and explode."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, when the spider poured on a burst of speed and leapt at the car. Kitten screamed when it hit the roof with a heavy metallic clank, but Spike just clenched his jaw and sped up. Hughes saw the spider careen off across the ramp, but he didn't delude himself with thinking they'd managed to get away. He needed something besides a throwing knife to deal with it.

"Spike, do you have a gun?"

"Damnit! Why do you old people always assume that someone with an alternative lifestyle is automatically a gang-banger?" Spike complained.

Hughes just looked at him.

The boy blushed furiously, then pointed. "Glove box."

Hughes opened the box and rifled around the pile of old parking tickets, ketchup packets and unidentifiable detritus. "I'm not finding it." He reached further back and his hand hit something hard and metallic. "There it is," he said as he pulled the gun out. He released the magazine to check the ammunition, saw it was fully loaded, then slapped it back in. It was a .22 --little more than a pea-shooter-- but it was the best he had at the moment.

The old car burst out onto the highway and swerved to avoid an oncoming semi at the merge-point, unbalancing Hughes once more. He was saved from falling into the door by Kitten's quick yank on his arm. He gave her a hasty thanks and looked back. Just as he feared, the spider was back on course and gaining on them. _At least it's in the open now_, he thought. It made keeping an eye on it easier; aiming at it would be a problem, though.

He made a quick assessment of the robot. Knowing Bond, there would be only the smallest of vulnerable places that a bullet might cause some damage. The case would be impervious, but the 'eyes' that surrounded that main body might not be. He briefly regretted never listening to Hawkeye's firm suggestions that he get more practice on the firing range. His aim with a gun was less than stellar and this wasn't paintball.

The 'eyes' that ringed the spider glowed a baleful yellow from the internal alchemic reaction and that was where Hughes intended to aim. He looked at the window. Getting through it was going to require more flexibility than he'd used in years and an awkward angle, but his aim would be steadier if he used both hands. _No choice_, he thought as he brought his long legs up and turned backwards in the seat.

"Keep your right side clear Spike!" Hughes said, as he maneuvered his shoulders through the open window. A semi laid on the horn as it roared past, making him instinctively flinch and duck. "Dammit!"

"Sorry," Spike said.

Once he made sure it was clear, he eased back out. The spider wasn't immediately visible and he leaned further out. At that moment, the bomb leapt onto the trunk, startling Hughes and causing him to fumble the gun. He quickly recovered and took aim.

The first shot skipped with a spark off the top of the robot and the machine's body flinched backwards as it hesitated in its climb forward. Hughes took the opportunity to squeeze off another round. This time he sent the bullet right into one of the glowing eyes. The spider reacted by spreading its legs out and flattening itself to the trunk of the car. Then it started to shake and bolts of yellow sparks flew out from it in all directions.

The entire metal body of the old car was suddenly electrified. Spike yelped and swerved when a shock zapped him, throwing Hughes hard into the door, causing him to drop the gun and nearly tumble out onto the pavement racing past below. Miraculously, the door didn't fly open this time.

He heard a pop and a hum over the wind and engine noise as he regained his balance, and saw that the spider had fused itself with the metal of the car. The eyes that ringed the body of the robot were opening and closing in rapid succession and the sequence was speeding up as he watched.

"Oh Hell," Hughes said when realization hit him. "That arrogant bastard alchemized a failsafe."

"What the fuck, Mate?" Spike shouted, and Hughes winced when he realized he had spoken aloud.

"Pull over!" he yelled. "We're abandoning the car."

"We can't! We're elevated!" Spike called back.

Shit. Hughes saw that there was nowhere to pull over safely. Not without risking getting hit or going over the side. And not for at least a few miles. This part of the highway was running alongside the river.

He could see the lights reflecting off the river where the highway crossed up ahead and an idea hit him. He ducked back in and sat forward in the seat. "Speed up, Spike!"

"What?!"

Hughes pointed ahead. "I want you to aim the car right at the guard over the river. When I say, we're going to jump out just before the car goes over. Got it?"

He heard incoherent noises, but ignored them as he popped the latch on the door to get ready. It was dangerous as all hell and those kids could still end up dead, but it was better than waiting for the bomb to blow.

"Get ready!" He had to hand it to Spike. The kid had nerves. He kept the car barreling along the elevated highway with one hand on the wheel and the other on the door. As a gentle curve started, the car remained straight. "On my mark! Three… two… one…now!"

He pushed off with his feet and slammed his shoulder into the door. He only had enough time to see Kitten roll out of the passenger side before he slammed into the cement barrier and fought for breath and consciousness. He felt a sickening crunch-pop in his shoulder as he heard the screech of metal and the crumble of concrete being shattered at high-impact, and was suddenly struck with a very strong sense of nausea that he struggled to swallow down.

At that speed the car should have busted all the way through. Instead, it bounced back into the middle of the highway, where it was clipped by a semi and sent spinning.

Hughes saw disaster an instant before it struck.

Kitten was stunned and stumbling toward the highway instead of back to the guard. It put her right in the path of the spinning car and she was hit by the rear end, throwing her to the ground. The car came to a stop, but she was under the trunk. She shook her head and tried to crawl out. Hughes scrambled to his feet, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side, and lurched forward to go help her, but he saw the light from the internal spark of the bomb go out as the final hole slid closed.

He barely had the chance to yell to Spike and hit the ground himself when the car exploded in a huge fireball of flying glass and metal.


	20. Ch 19 Murphy Was An Optimist

"**Murphy was an Optimist"**

**Arc One: Chapter Nineteen**

**Balance of Power**

**June 2, 2006 - 11:43 pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Gene wheeled out of his room, a man with a purpose and determined to get some answers. He wished he could be less… well… obvious that he was out past curfew to go visit Tiger –and visions of himself sneaking past guards to see his friend danced through his head, but he knew how likely _those_ dreams were-- but the nurses seemed to understand. All they did was smile and make the comment of "Don't stay out much past midnight, Gene," before pointing him in the direction of Tiger's room. Naturally. He could just imagine them twittering behind their hands and talking about how wonderful it was that he finally found a friend.

_Well, there's one obstacle I won't have to figure my way out of. Looks like being misanthropic is coming in handy._

His remote wheelchair whirred along as he found Tiger's room, reaching out to nudge the door open and slip inside. Not noiselessly, _never_ noiselessly – his wheelchair hummed every time he moved the dumb joystick – but at least quietly enough that he shouldn't shock Tiger awake if he was sleeping. He gently nudged the wheelchair into the darkened room, along the rectangle of light from the open door. Once he was right next to the bed he saw Tiger shift under the covers and found it somewhat amusing that he was completely buried –not even a tuft of dark blonde hair stuck out. He reached out, intending to gently shake him awake and whispered, "Tiger?"

"What?"

Gene hadn't been expecting an answer from _behind_. "GAH!" he gasped, jerking his hand back and snapping his head around to see Tiger standing at his left shoulder. The other boy came around him, and that was when he noticed he was dressed in the darkest clothing he owned, tennis shoes double-knotted and his hair pulled into a short pony-tail. "Dammit, don't do that! You scared me to death!"

Tiger attempted to muffle a snicker behind his hand. "Apparently not. You're still breathing."

"Smartass Captain Obvious," he groused. Then he slowly slid his eyes to the bed, and the still-squirming shape under the covers. "If you're here," he drawled and hesitantly pointed. "Then what is… _that_? And please tell me you're not stealing babies from the nursery."

Tiger quickly lunged past Gene to make a grab for whatever it was. "Um, it's nothing. Forget about it."

"Like hell it's not," Gene said and gave the other boy an elbow check to the ribs that any hockey player would be proud of. There was a brief tangle of arms and slight scuffle as they both tried to get to the thing wriggling on the bed while at the same time blocking the other. At one point, Tiger lurched sideways and caused Gene to elbow the chair's joystick, which made the chair jump and roll across Tiger's foot. Gene gleefully took advantage of the brief distraction to snag the bundle from under the sheet when Tiger jumped back and yelped.

A teddy bear silently writhed in his hands --the same bear he'd given his friend that was soft, and stuffed, and was _supposed_ to be inanimate. "What the heck is _this_?" he repeated as he squeezed around the body, not feeling anything hard, like a battery box or a geared skeleton.

Tiger giggled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "A teddy bear?"

"I can see _that_. The proper question would probably be '_why_ is the teddy bear _moving_?'" Gene turned it around, examining it from all sides and stopped when he spotted an eight-pointed star with what looked like a fish-hook in the center and a few small, unidentifiable marks around the outside of it glowing softly within the synthetic fur of the bear's butt. "What's this?"

Tiger coughed. "Aheh… that's sort of hard to explain…"

"It couldn't be any harder than explaining it to _me_ the first time, could it?"

Gene nearly ran Tiger over again as he spun the chair around, then blinked at the sudden flood of light. He blew out a relieved breath in a gust when he saw Ray push the door closed with a soft click. _How_ someone that big could possibly be absolutely silent and sneak up on them, Gene would never know. That didn't stop him from glaring at the large nurse, though. "And just what did he tell you the first time, huh? Why am I still out of the loop?"

Tiger frowned. "Do you think he can handle it, Ray?"

Ray crossed the room and settled on the bed. "Might as well tell him, Al. He already knows something's up. Besides, he puts up with your weirdness."

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not—Hey, waitaminit!" Gene spun on Tiger and gaped at him. "Al?" The other boy looked down and nodded. "So your real name's Al?" Gene grinned broadly. "I _knew_ you were hiding something!"

"I'm hiding a lot more than that." Al sighed, took the bear from Gene and sat down next to Ray. "Gene… are you ready to enter my world?"

Gene rolled his eyes and moved closer to Al. "Only if you stop speaking in bad movie clichés and just tell me the truth. Jeez, I'm not gonna break."

"I'll hold you to that, then." Tiger –_No, Al_, Gene reminded himself—stared down at the bear as it slowly stopped moving and finally became still. He could see that Al was working through what he wanted to say, so he waited even though what he really wanted to do was shake his friend and scream at him to get to it already. Of all his daydreams of intrigue, nothing had ever come close to what he was experiencing right now. It was exciting and just a little scary at the same time.

After a bit, Al set the bear aside and looked Gene straight in the eye. "You know that Matrix movie we watched the other night? The one that says our reality isn't necessarily an actual reality?"

"Yeah, with all the Plato analogies and stuff." He chuckled. "What, are you gonna tell me you're an Agent and I'm gonna die now?"

"Hardly. It's just… pretty accurate at explaining just where I come from."

"Huh?"

Al hesitated, then his words came out in a rush. "My real name is Alphonse Elric, and I was born in a town named Risembool, in a country called Amestris. I have a brother named Edward, and both of us are alchemists." Al jerked a thumb at the teddy bear. "That was alchemy."

Gene made a disbelieving noise even though he wasn't quite so certain anymore in what he believed. "So, there's a Caledonia where you live? About the same shape as our Scotland?"

"And your England, too. The Rising went differently, I think, and Scotland won. It's called the Caledonian Empire, where I'm from."

"I see," he said slowly as he cast an apprehensive glance at the bear. "What kind of alchemy can animate a stuffed teddy bear? I thought it was used to turn base metals into gold."

Gene noticed that Ray kept a wary eye on the bear, himself. "Yeah, eh, that alchemy's different from what you showed me the first time…"

"Alchemy is the science of understanding the composition of something, breaking it down, and rebuilding it as something else. This is soul-based alchemy, though I think I'm the only one who can do it." Al took a deep breath and picked the bear back up. He laid it across his lap, then clapped his hands and touched the stuffed toy. Gene watched as lines and swirls appeared all through the fake fur, glowing a soft red and then quickly fading. They reminded him of the tribal tattoos he'd seen on a few people, and it made him wonder if those symbols might've been alchemy at one time. The bear became animated once more and Al set it on the floor to let it walk around.

Ray rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he watched the bear. "Wait. I thought you had to draw some kind of circle." He looked back at Al. "At least you did when you showed me the first time."

"Well… Brother and I seem to be able to do personal alchemy without needing to draw an array." Al brought his hands together again, but didn't clap. "When we clap, it activates the array within our bodies."

"P-personal alchemy," Gene said.

Al faced him and nodded. "My soul detaches easily, and I can use it to control inanimate objects."

_That_ made Gene snort, though he wasn't sure if it was from nerves or just the ludicrousness of the idea. "Souls don't exist."

Al's normally soft hazel eyes went hard just before he looked down. Gene watched his friend's hands clench tightly on top of his thighs. When he spoke again, it was so soft Gene almost missed it. "If that's the case, then I wouldn't be here, because that is all I was for five years."

Gene and Ray stared at each other for a moment, then they looked over at Al. "Come again?" they said simultaneously.

Al continued to stare down, his fists clenching and unclenching. "There was… an accident." He took a deep shuddering breath then finally looked back up at Gene. The darkness in his friend's eyes spoke of nightmares, and Gene wasn't certain this was all so exciting anymore.

"No, not an accident," Al said. "A… a mistake. We dared to tread where mortals are forbidden."

"Hubris," Gene said softly.

"Everything has a price," Ray said.

Al nodded. "The first law of alchemy is Equivalent Exchange. You cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. Because of our… _hubris_, Brother lost his left leg and I was sucked into the Gate." He swallowed and looked back down. "Brother gave up his right arm in order to save me, but all he could do was attach my soul to a suit of armor." He shivered and hugged himself. "My body remained inside the Gate for five years. I couldn't feel anything. I didn't sleep or eat. I couldn't smell or taste or touch. I didn't feel fear or sadness or joy."

Gene shivered in sympathy and at the haunted look in Al's eyes. As bad as it sounded, he knew it was much, much worse.

"Almost total sensory deprivation," Ray whispered. "My God, how did you survive without going completely insane?"

Al looked at Ray as though insanity had never been an option. "I had to. Brother needed me to help him find the Philosopher's Stone. So we could return our bodies back to normal." He looked down at his hand and flexed the fingers. "Except, I got my body back and Ed is still missing his limbs."

Gene was dumbstruck and more than a little afraid, because he was being forced to reconsider everything that he believed. He believed in logic and science and technology. He didn't believe in the soul, or magic, or even miracles. That was delusion in his opinion --insanity. But he had no reason to think this strange kid who had befriended him was anything but completely sane and telling the truth. That creepily animated teddy bear was evidence enough. It was confusing and difficult for him to wrap his brain around right then, but he knew he wasn't going to be doing much in the way of sleeping for a very long time, which meant he was going to have plenty of opportunity to come to terms with it all.

Ray, on the other hand, seemed to be taking it a little better, and even looked like he'd had an epiphany. "Is that why your body has no baby fat? But how could you have survived for five years? Has Micky D's infiltrated _that_, too?"

Al gave Ray a befuddled look. "Who?" He shook his head, then said, "Brother was hooked into my mind and body. He ate and slept for two, although it was barely enough to keep my body alive. His automail used a lot of energy, too—"

Gene's brain decided at that moment to short-circuit and absolutely refused to try to process another thing. He was surprised that the sound of grey-matter slamming on its brakes and screeching to a halt couldn't be heard by the others in the room. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stop the exposition, I wanna get off!" He looked at Al and Ray. "Start from the beginning, please? And explain what automail is and the Gate and whatever else needs explaining."

Al winced. "That could take awhile… and Brother's supposed to come get me tonight. Besides, Gene; we're not supposed to be out of our rooms past midnight."

Ray chuckled, and whipped out a deck of cards. "Don't worry, boys; I have the perfect solution."

0o0o0

**11:51 pm**

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma**

Tom held on for dear life from the passenger seat of the Ninjavan as Ducky zipped around a sports car that had the nerve to actually do the speed limit, and wondered –not for the first time since he'd climbed into young hacker's van and immediately buckled up—just what possessed him to agree to ride along with him to Reilly's tonight.

_Well, it __**seemed**__ logical at the time_, he thought. _We both live in Tulsa, and we were both going to the same place._

Ducky laughed maniacally as he zipped back into the other lane, threading the narrow space between the back of a semi in the left lane and the front of the sports car in the right. _Yup, that's what they're putting on my epitaph, 'It seemed logical at the time'_. "Hey Ducks, think you could… I don't know… follow some of the traffic laws around here?"

"Traffic laws? You mean there're _traffic laws_?"

Tom groaned and started to cover his eyes but thought better of it. If he was going to die at the hands of a madman, he wanted to see it coming. _This way_, he thought, _I can explain to Saint Peter how I ended up there. Not that even __**he**__ would believe it._

They reached the outskirts of Bartlesville and the speed limit dropped to 50mph, which meant that Ducky slowed down to 70. He yammered on excitedly about their intriguing little excursion tonight as they made their way to the other side of town. Tom barely heard him; he was too wrapped up in trying to remember if he'd updated his will in the past year or so, re-running the plans they'd made for 'Operation: Rescue Terminator Jr.', thinking he was really too old for this kind of thing, and concern about Reilly. _Especially_ concern about Reilly. He hadn't heard a word from her all day, and considering the circumstances, that wasn't a good sign. He didn't voice the nagging presentiment that something had gone horribly wrong, though. Tom told himself that in the end, everything would be fine and he would have fretted over nothing, so there was no point in making the Duckster worry too.

Then two words filtered in through the agitated babble running circles in his head that made all the internal noise suddenly go silent --_smoke bombs and rope_.

"What do you—" Tom started, but was halted when Ducky slammed on the brakes for a red light. Had it not been for the shoulder harness, the older man would have become far more intimate with the dash than he had any desire to. When inertia released its hold on him, he settled back into the seat and rubbed at his right shoulder. "What the hell do you think you'll need rope and smoke bombs for?" he growled, partially because he knew he was going to end up with a bruise on his shoulder from the snapping of the seatbelt, and partially because he did not like having changes made to his carefully laid plans without notice. "There was nothing in our playbook about rope and smoke bombs, Ducks."

Ducky hit the gas when the light turned green and sped down the highway that led to Reilly's. He turned and grinned broadly at his passenger, the muted light from the dash casting an eerie glow on the younger man's face that made him look all the more insane because of it . "You always need rope. And you said we were going to provide a distraction. Well? Smoke bombs can be pretty distracting."

After a long pause where Tom tried in vain to grasp the slippery logic that he was certain was hiding in there somewhere, he finally asked, "I'm certain I'll regret this, but _how_ do you intend to use those smoke bombs to create a distraction? And please use small words for us mere mortals."

"Well, I was watching a movie last night—"

"Always a bad sign with you."

"—and these guys went through the air ducts to get to this hotel room to take out a mobster—"

"You _do_ understand that movies are make-believe, right?"

"Well, yeah. It's not like Terminator and I'll be shooting up the Russian mob, but anyway—"

"I've seen that movie Ducks. Their 'plan' didn't exactly go _as_ planned, remember?"

"Well, Duh!" Ducky said as he barely slowed to make the left onto Reilly's road. "They were too big, and weighed too much. Terminator and I are small and light. Anyhow—"

"Ed isn't all that light. Trust me."

"Well, okay, he has that automail, but still—" For once Ducky shut up all on his own and Tom had nothing to say. Instead, they stared nervously out the windshield of the Ninjavan as the younger man drove slowly down the dark dirt road.

They should have been able to see the soft glow of the torches in the garden and inside lights of Reilly's house from the corner –a welcoming beacon that was as dependable in warm weather as the sound of cicadas—but there was nothing. Were it not for the fact that both men could measure the distance from the corner and turn unerringly into the drive with their eyes closed, they would have passed the property on by. As it was, they pulled to the side of the road because the drive was taped off, but the headlights illuminated the area enough that they got a hint of the destruction.

"Oh, dear God," Tom whispered.

"Dude," Ducky said so softly he could barely be heard, "I don't think God had anything to do with this."

0o0o0

**June 3, 2006 - 12:59 am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

"HA! I am poker NINJA!"

"Dammit, that's the fourth straight hand in a row you've won!"

"How can you be a ninja at _poker_, Gene?"

The self-described misanthrope grinned and gathered an abundance of toothpicks from the center of the bed. "I'm just special that way."

There was a knock on the door, then the charge nurse poked her head in. Gene, Al and Ray all turned to her in unison, and Ray plastered on his most ingratiating smile.

"Might I have an explanation as to why you're still up, boys?" the nurse asked, although her attention was centered on Ray. Her expression made it clear to the one adult in the poker-playing trio that he was liable to have to do some sweet-talking to keep from having a new orifice installed on his body somewhere unpleasant.

"It was his idea, all of it. I place the blame firmly on him," Ray said with feigned petulance as he pointed at Al.

"Hey! Don't blame me for your suggestions!"

"Yeah, you're the adult here, Ray. You're contributing to our delinquency."

The nurse lost her sternness and struggled to keep some semblance of a straight face as she said, "Jeeze Ray, you really are a sucker, aren't you?" He opened his mouth to protest, but she waved him off. "Just keep it down, _boys_. No more yelling about Poker Ninjas. And no complaining when you're tired in the morning, you hear?" Gene and Al both nodded vigorously, obviously relieved they weren't in trouble. Then she pointed at Ray and said, "You're going to have to buy me dinner if you want me to keep my mouth shut."

"Isn't that extortion?"

She laughed lightly. "You bet your ass it is." She waved at them and started to close the door. "Remember what I said. If I can hear you down at the desk, I'll close this casino down."

Gene and Al beamed at the closed door. "Okay. Thanks, ma'am!" Gene called.

Ray picked up the cards and started shuffling. "Okay, the game is Seven Card Stud High-Low, one-eyed Jacks are wild."

Gene chuckled evilly and Al fell back on the bed with a groan. "Can I just fold now?" he said.

0o0o0

**1:33 am**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Making his way to the most recent patient on his list, Llyn Quennel wished for the thousandth time that night that he hadn't been awakened from his nap in the break room.

The steady stream of patients which had dragged him from his comfy couch had started after a quarrel had broken out at the Bohemian Coffee House. Several involved in the slight riot had been hurried through the emergency room for treatments, and Llyn had been detailed to bring supplies to the medics. The procedure _he'd_ gotten to assist with had been treating a transsexual named Gretchen. He... er, _she_... had been thrown into a display of some sort, and glass had cut her enough to need a stitch or two. Llyn had tried to ignore the flirting he'd gotten after he'd first opened his mouth; _why_ did everyone have to love the Welsh accent? Even if it wasn't really an accent anymore.

After Gretchen, there had been one or two scalding injuries from coffee or soup being spilled when the stampede had started before the victims of what had been termed 'The Accident' had shown up.

The first victim had been DOA, a young woman of about twenty or so who had been trapped under the car when it had exploded. Hideous burns and lacerations had covered what little of her torso was left, lavender hair still clinging to the remains of the skull half-singed and stained red with drying blood.

The paramedics had gotten the second victim to ID her. Her name was Katherine Letrowsky, though she was better known as Kitten to her friends. A morbid thought had made Llyn slightly nauseated as he'd listened to the paramedics talk; there weren't enough pieces left for the coroners to make a whole person anymore.

_There goes any chance of an open casket funeral._

The second victim, Brian Spiegel, was in much better condition considering how Katherine had looked. _He_ came in mostly coherent, if in a crapload of pain. A large section of sedan shrapnel had been lodged in his chest and wrapped to prevent arterial bleeding. Llyn had been sent in with supplies and to assist some of the procedure, but the victim had latched onto his purple scrubs with one hand. "You."

He'd struggled to get his shirt out of Brian's hand. "Let me go, sir. You need to calm down."

"Forget that, I need you to—AUGH!" His words had been cut off by one of the ER doctors attempting to stabilize the piece of shrapnel lodged in his sternum, his hand nearly ripping Llyn's scrubs. "Get this message to the other guy, got it? Or I'll hurt you once I'm out of surgery."

Llyn leveled a calm gaze at the man, whose grimace revealed some very real-looking fangs, and sighed. "Fine. Put the fangs away, an' tell me the message, aye?"

The other doctors had sent Llyn to assist with the third victim after he'd written the message on a slip of paper. It was just as well, since there wasn't much that could be done for Brian after they got him somewhat stabilized, until he was wheeled into the OR.

He slipped through the curtain surrounding the exam table where the third victim was waiting, and made a quick assessment of the man laying on his stomach. Marc Holland was a physically fit, albeit ordinary Caucasian male in his late 30's; at least what he could see, which was primarily the man's shredded backside. Llyn had a hard time figuring out just why two teenagers with things like lavender hair and spiked teeth were hanging out with him. Holland had escaped with a dislocated right arm, some deep bruising, and long slices and cuts that were scattered along his back and forearms from flying pieces of car. Even without cleaning, Llyn could see bits and pieces of ripped flesh littering the man's backside, and realized with revulsion that some of that torn skin didn't belong to Holland.

He decided that bringing the note to Holland's attention directly probably wasn't the smartest move in the world, so he casually tossed it in front of the man's nose and picked up a sponge to clean the long furrows on the man's back left by the car shrapnel. The first thing that needed done was for Holland to get cleaned up before stitching, and as he tugged on gloves and started, Llyn was vaguely thankful the man couldn't see his own back. It looked absolutely horrifying.

"It looks like you got cut up pretty badly there, Holland sir," he murmured as he carefully sponged the deep slices. "The doctor, he'll be needin' to stitch some of those up."

Holland didn't actually say anything and never looked up to see who was treating him. He only twitched slightly and grunted low when Llyn touched any of the more sensitive injuries as he sponged debris from his flesh, although he did seem to relax after he gingerly opened the note with one hand.

"Were these cuts from the car exploding? The boys from the ambulances said it was a bomb that went off."

"Yeah."

Llyn's eyes widened at flatness in Holland's voice and he wondered again how he was connected to the two kids. "How's the shoulder feelin'?" he continued, wringing out the sponge and working his way down. "Looks like it's swellin' pretty good; you should go easy with it for a few months. Give the joint time to repair itself."

"Heh. With the way my luck's been going today, I'll lose it by morning anyway."

Not entirely surprised at the seriousness of Holland's tone --but beginning to wonder if there was more trauma there than just the explosion and the girl's death-- Llyn gave him a pat on his uninjured shoulder and made a few swipes at the cuts on his forearms. Those wouldn't need stitches, thankfully.

It was at that point Holland turned his head sideways and actually glanced up at Llyn. He caught the stunned blink and almost imperceptible widening of the man's green eyes just before he went a sickly pale, and Llyn hesitated. "Mr. Holland? Are you a'right? You needin' to be sick?"

Holland closed his eyes and sighed. Llyn saw a deep sadness seem to just wash over the man and he barely shook his head. "No. Sorry. For a minute there, I thought you—" A tiny, wistful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, then was gone in an instant. "You look almost like someone I once knew."

Llyn let it lie, and moved to get the dirt out of the deep lacerations gracing the top of Holland's buttocks. He worked in silence and finished up just as his supervisor came in.

"Llyn! Who sent you to work on Mr. Holland?"

Llyn shrugged, rinsing the last of the blood from his patient's back. "Got sent with a message, and I didn't see a reason to not be gettin' Mr. Holland cleaned up. Did I do a'right?"

Doc Grubb, his supervisor, peered over Llyn's shoulder. "Yeah, you did fine. Could you go and get a brace for Mr. Holland now? Things have quieted down, and it'll take me at least an hour to get him stitched up, so after you get the brace, catch up on your reports, then be back here with something for him to wear."

Llyn sized up Holland. _With the stitches and the brace… let's see if I can find size 'tent' for him._ "I'll be back in a bit then, sir. Shouldn't take long."

As Llyn wandered out of the exam bay, he rubbed at his eyes, thinking back to that note. Brian had given him a phone number. That was it. No bells, no whistles, just ten digits. With sleep deprivation working on his nerves, the conclusions he was drawing weren't very reassuring.

_God save me from Americans and their clandestine love affairs. Why it's so important that Holland man get a bloody __**phone number**__ after he was in a car bombing is beyond me. Crazy Yanks._

_Ah, well. Maybe it's not what I think, and he was meeting someone to…yeah, right. His car was bombed, and someone died because of it. So it's either a severe case of jealousy, or he's in over his head with something illegal…_

_I almost hope it's a severe case of jealousy._

"Man, look at that poor guy out there! Doesn't he know birds _like_ shiny things?"

"Ouch, there it goes for the scalp! Maybe he should've worn a toupee."

"Nah. Then the bird would've just stolen it."

"Should we go help him?"

"Why? This is hilarious!"

The sound of giggling ER staff members fell on Llyn's ears, and he peered around the corner to see just what all the fuss was about.

And he froze.

Outside the doors to the ER, in front of the large clear panes of glass, a bald man in an impeccable suit was frantically waving his arms around his head, trying to fend off a raven.

A raven.

"_Ravens are ill luck, son. You should remember that. Death and chaos follow those touched by the raven's wings, so avoid 'em."_

"_Dad, you're getting senile in your old age. No one believes the myths anymore!"_

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, as he looked down at his nametag. Llyn Quennel. Not Llyn Branch. He hadn't really used his adoptive surname much, preferring to honor his dead kin by keeping the name he was graced with at birth.

Especially after he'd met the raven cursed man.

"Hey, Quennel. _Que_nnel? Hel-lo? Earth to Llyn, do you copy?"

Llyn forced himself to come out of his shocked reminiscing, and looked up. "Huh?"

Danny, the only other intern working the shift with Llyn, shook his head in pity. "Damn, man, when you space, you space! You should go get some coffee, if you're done tending patients. You look like shit; did y'see a ghost or somethin'?"

"You don't look like a spring chicken either, _ffwl_," Llyn retorted, getting control of himself as Danny looked puzzled at the slippery Welsh insult. "I'm getting stuff for Grubb."

"Well, hurry up then! I want my break."

Llyn scowled, and headed for the supply closet for the brace and clothing. _I'll just avoid the man. It's a large hospital, surely he won't come bothering me. Dammit, you come across one raven cursed man, you start seeing them everywhere. __**Nothing's**__ going to happen, Quennel, so relax._

Going into the supply closet, he found the brace and the set of scrubs he needed with little difficulty. The scrubs were thankfully large enough for Holland to wear; Llyn just hoped he didn't take it the wrong way that they were the same dark purple as his own, but that was the least popular color, so there were always plenty. He was going to make it a point to avoid the front and just go straight to the Doctor's station to get his reports done, when the cursed man caught his attention.

"My name is Sidney Bond, ma'am."

The intake receptionist let loose a soft giggle, before coughing. "Are you sure the first name isn't James, Mr. Bond?" she asked, the mirth evident in her voice.

The Cursed Man sighed explosively. "Yes, that's my real name. I'd appreciate it if you'd drop that matter, though; I'm looking for a man named Hughes. He was supposed to have come in with two other accident victims."

_Hughes_?

The sight was absolutely ludicrous; there he stood, the Cursed Man, calmly eyeing the receptionist who was trying with all her might not to laugh at the large dollop of bird poo on the man's otherwise perfect suit. He ducked back behind a partition so he could listen in and watch.

The receptionist, finding within her some fount of resolve to swallow her laughter and concentrate, frowned at her records and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, but there's been no one under that name admitted to the ER this evening. Are you sure you have the right hospital?"

"I'm sure this is the right hospital." Bond fiddled with his watch, and for some reason, Llyn felt uneasy. "He'd be in his late 30's, black hair. He was involved in a car bombing this evening; I'd like to ask him some questions."

Llyn paled and slipped out of view, trying to control the panic rising to grab his heart. _**Holland**__. And I don't think he's the one in the wrong here; that Bond guy looked like Mom…_

The receptionist sighed and said, "Fine, Sir. Just take a seat in the waiting room, and we'll see if we can track this Mr. Hughes down."

…_and he's cursed._

Llyn looked down at the bundle in his hands, and gripped it tightly. He had work to do.

0o0o0

**2:27 am**

"A cursed man is after you."

Hughes looked up and stared, eyes widening at the young intern who looked so much like Roy it hurt. He had been replaying the events of what had turned into an excruciating day --knowing that it was useless to try and figure out what he could have done differently, but too exhausted to fight the inclination—that he never heard the young man return. He'd so completely withdrawn after the doctor started injecting the local anesthetic into his torn-up ass that he hadn't even realized when he'd left, and now the intern was back, cleaning up. "Huh?"

"A cursed man is after you," he repeated, throwing away some dirtied gauze in the biohazard container. The young man --whose nametag he finally noticed, proclaimed his name to be 'Llyn Quennel'—offered his hand to help Hughes sit up on the gurney. "He's a bald man, calling himself 'Bond' and asking for the man who was in the big car explosion, named Hughes."

Hughes felt the blood drain from his face and he gripped the gurney with his left hand in an effort to keep himself upright as Llyn continued, taking gauze and wrapping it lightly around his torso before reaching for a brace, supposedly to keep his right arm immobile. "As you were admitted under the name Marcus Holland, I get the feeling you're lying about your name, but you probably have a reason for it."

It was as Llyn took the arm brace and wrapped the main part around his middle where the gauze was that Hughes realized he was entirely nude, due to his clothing being cut off by the paramedics. Feeling the blood rushing back to his face, Hughes debated between holding onto the gurney with his left hand, and reaching to cover where he was exposed. Llyn didn't seem to notice the nudity, too intent on gently strapping first the injured bicep, then the forearm of Hughes' right arm into the brace. "There. Now, use your left arm to keep steady, an' I'll help you get some pants on."

Hughes throttled down the blush and did as asked, letting the intern tug the pants into place just below where the stitches ended, the hospital scrubs riding low on his hips. Hughes just stood there, letting Llyn get the matching purple shirt ready before he spoke again. "Why are you helping me?"

The young man smiled, and tossed the shirt over Hughes' head. "Because another man once did the same for me." Hughes felt a tug at the bottom of his shirt, and he was soon dressed with Llyn's help, his right arm hidden under the scrubs. "I'm not a superstitious person, I'm not, but I know how bizarre things can be with a raven cursed man." The slight accent the boy had became more apparent the quicker he spoke, the vowels broadening slightly as his r's disappeared with the cadence of his speech. "I can help you, but you'll be needin' to trust me and do exactly what I tell you to."

Hughes didn't have to be told twice. "What do you need me to do?"

Llyn dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of car keys and a phone. "Down the hall there'll be an exit to the parking ramp. I'll cover for you while you get to it. I drive a red Toyota Camry; get in it and call someone to be pickin' you up. Leave the keys and the phone locked in the car; I have another set."

Hughes gripped the phone and keys tightly in his good hand, nodding. "Right. But what about Spike? He'll need protection, too. Bond doesn't leave witnesses."

"Brian? He's in surgery, but I'll figure out something," Llyn said as he pressed a small paper bag into Hughes's hands. "These're your antibiotics and painkillers, with some gauze to wrap around your middle t'protect the stitches from the brace. There's enough samples there to last a few days plus the scripts. You know the drill, don't operate heavy machinery under th' influence, don't drink alcohol, all that. Now, just follow me and wait for my signal."

0o0o0

**Bartlesville, Oklahoma **

Tom scratched at a chigger bite on his ankle with one hand as he held his cellphone to his ear with the other and waited for Ducky to come out of the convenience store. It was the first place they reached once they got back in town and out of the signal dead-zone that had always surrounded Reilly's property. He listened –for the fourth time—as Reilly's cell rang and he prayed that this time she answered, because he was certain the messages he was leaving were growing shriller with each call.

The moment he and Ducky saw the devastation to the house, they grabbed lights and started snooping around. It didn't take long to find the tire tracks of at least three vehicles that tore across the front yard and around the house. They followed the trails, two of them squeezing between the house and the shed, the third going around the shed (with a return path for that one, and a very wide wheel-base which Tom assumed to have belonged to the tow-truck that hauled at least one vehicle out of the field). He and Ducky followed the trails, discovering that two of them ended in the far corner of the property, but a third tore through the barbed-wire and on through the neighbor's field.

_Ended right where we found Ed_, he thought. He'd never seen hide nor hair of that damned Gate when they found the young man, and he couldn't see jack shit tonight, but every hair on his body stood on end when he got near where it was supposed to be. It felt like coming too close to a transformer the way it made his nerves hum and it just added to the creepiness of the whole scenario.

All around where the one trail had ended the ground was warped and bare of grass, and Tom didn't want to contemplate just what had caused the scorch marks that surrounded a vaguely rectangular shape about the size of Reilly's truck. It looked bad. Very bad. But Tom wasn't about to give up on the woman he'd damn near raised, or the kid who'd been quite literally dropped on them.

_Both of them are cut from the same cloth_, he told himself. _They're both stubborn as an old jackass and harder than hell to kill. They're not dead. They weren't in the truck or the house. They got somewhere safe and I'll hear from them soon. Goddammit Reilly, if you don't answer the fucking phone I'm going to hunt you down and kick your ass._

The call rolled over to Reilly's voice mail again and Tom didn't bother leaving a message this time. He slapped the phone closed and slung it onto the dash in frustration. "Dammit."

The driver's door opened at that moment, and Ducky hesitated before he climbed in. "No luck, huh?"

Tom fell back against the seat and scrubbed at his face with a shaky hand. He clenched his teeth and struggled to find some center of calm that he didn't think he possessed at this point. "No. I just keep getting her voice mail." He cast a sideways glance over at Ducky and saw the worry darkening the younger man's face. "You?"

"Hughes has his cell turned off," Ducky said low.

Tom stared. If they couldn't reach Maes either, the implications were dire. "So… we're missing three people, then."

Tom's cell chirruped, startling both men, and breaking the silence. The older man lurched for the phone, fumbled it, and smacked his head on the dash as he scrambled to scoop it up off the floorboard. He took a quick glance at the number that showed up in the window as he rubbed at the new tender spot on the top of his head, and said, "Not Reilly's or Maes' numbers."

"They could be calling from a payphone."

Tom shook his head. "Nope, it's a cell prefix, not a landline."

"Well hell, are you going to answer the fucker, or not?"

Tom ignored Ducky and flipped the phone open. "Hello?" he said, hesitantly.

0o0o0

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Hughes shut the phone off, then slumped over onto his left side as he dropped it to the floorboard of the small car. He was panting and growing nauseous from the pain, and while draping his long body across two seats and contorting around the stick-shift wasn't exactly comfortable, it did relieve the pressure from his torn backside and kept him out of sight.

He was tempted to take one of the pain meds the intern had given him, but he didn't dare. He needed to stay alert for the next hour at least. Then Tom and Ducky would arrive, take him back to his hotel, and he could get some rest --after he called the number on the slip of paper the intern has given him. _Llyn_, he reminded himself. _The man took a risk to help me out, the least I can do is to think of him by name. Llyn Quennel --a young man in medical school who could be a close relation to Roy if this was another world._

He kept his mind working in an attempt to subvert the pain at least a little, and wondered what Ed and Reilly were doing right now. _Ed's probably sulking like he generally does when he's worried. And knowing Reilly, she's pestering him to pull him out of his funk._ Hughes huffed once at the thought of the rant and flail the blonde would put out if Reilly succeeded in annoying him enough, and then instantly started to give himself a mental ass-kicking. With a grimace, he tried to feel around where he thought he'd dropped the cellphone. You idiot, he thought, as his fingertips felt the familiar shape. It was just close enough he could touch it, but not quite grasp it, and with a stretch that pulled at numerous stitches he coaxed it closer. The effort at getting the phone from the awkward angle left him sweating and panting hard enough the windows had started to fog, and he took a moment to get his breathing under control. _Wouldn't do to have the hospital security thinking poor Llyn was getting a little while on duty_, he thought with a soft chuckle. Then the humor of fogged windows fled and Hughes's heart pounded when he realized that it could also arouse Bond's suspicions. _Shit_.

He took a chance of wiping at the driver's window and taking a cautious peek out. When he was certain no one was around, he slowly cranked the window down a crack in an attempt to equalize the temperature and eliminate the most obvious evidence of his hiding place. Then with hands shaking from pain, exhaustion, and dread at what he was going to have to tell Reilly, he dialed the number on the slip of paper.

0o0o0

**Oklahoma City, Oklahoma**

Ed sat in a chair with his arms around his knees in the darkened hotel room and stared balefully at the silent phone. Reilly's cellphone had been lost somewhere in the confusion of the day, and both of them knew that anyone trying to call it would be fretting, but there was nothing to be done about it. She'd managed to contact Kitten and gave the girl what she needed to know to get their status to Hughes. Now it was just a matter of waiting.

Ed didn't really trust Kitten. He thought she was too flighty to be reliable, but he kept his own counsel because Reilly seemed confident that the girl could be depended on. Except Hughes was two hours over-due to call them, and Ed feared he was right all along. He actually _hoped_ he was right and had an excuse to rant at Kitten next time he saw her, because that would be so much better than any of the alternatives running through his mind right now.

He sighed, rested his head on his knees and wondered just how in the hell Al had been able to sit up all night when he was armor and not go completely nuts. The darkness and solitude only seemed to breed progressively darker thoughts and imaginings as the night wore on.

At least he'd won the fight to get Reilly to try and sleep. After all, she was the one who was going to be driving that behemoth in the morning, not him. But she wasn't really resting. She'd tossed and turned and mumbled in her fitful sleep for the past hour and all it did was make Ed realize that once again, innocent people were getting caught up in the danger that always seemed to follow him wherever he went. Meshed deeply into that guilt was worry for Al. He knew his younger brother was going to be pacing the floors right about now, wondering where Ed was at; probably vowing to beat him to a pulp for _making_ him worry. Ed decided that he'd joyfully let his little brother pound him if it meant they were back together again. And safe… safe. _God I hope Hughes is safe, too_.

Ed nearly launched himself out of the chair when the phone rang, and blinked at the flood of light when Reilly sat up and turned on the lamp. "I'll get it," he said as he reached for the phone. She nodded and scooted back against the headboard.

_Please let it be Hughes_, he thought as he brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, but Ed could hear breathing and he tensed.

_"Hey, Ed! It's been forever since I've been able to talk to you!"_ came a familiarly manic and wonderfully welcome voice. Ed felt a bucket-load of tension suddenly drain from his body and at his relaxation, Reilly went limp in relief. _"How are you and Mary doing at your new digs?"_

Ed picked up underlying stress and instantly caught onto the coded speech. "Hey, Marc. I was hoping Mary had gotten this number to you. We're doing pretty well, just need to get adjusted a bit more. How've you been? Anything interesting going on where you are?"

Ed caught the very slight hesitation before Hughes said, "_Well, I'm considering moving, actually; there's this lovely fixer-upper on the outskirts of town I was thinking of buying. It kind of reminds me of your old place_."

Ed felt the blood drain from his face. _Shit. This is bad. This is very bad_. He quickly looked down and hoped that his long bangs hid the horror he knew had to have crossed his face at that news. _Reilly's home. Destroyed. How? And __**why**__? What possible reason would someone have to torch her __**house**_ "I… I wouldn't recommend investing in a house like that, really," he stammered.

"_I'll be sure to keep that in mind. And I have some bad news, too_," Hughes said, keeping his tone level.

_Bad news? Fuck, what could be worse?_ "Oh?"

_"Remember the kitten that Mary gave to me?"_

Ed swallowed nervously, and dared a glance up at Reilly. He kicked himself, knowing that he was doing a crappy job of keeping the growing dismay out of his voice. "What about her?"

_"Well... she died last night."_

Ed couldn't suppress the low moan, no matter how hard he tried. He was grateful he wasn't standing right then, because he would've hit the floor. "What… what happened?"

"_She got hit by a car; some sort of beast chased her into the street_." Hughes couldn't keep the grief out of his voice, and Ed wondered if the older man was at least doing better than he was at the moment. He didn't think he could talk now, not with his throat tightening. "_Mary's going to be devastated_."

"Yeah, she is," was all Ed could choke out.

"_Remember that neighbor I had problems with awhile back? The one that broke the gate?"_ Hughes said. _"Well, he was the one who sicced that beast on the kitten."_

Ed was silent while he tried to parse that bit of information. The stressors were on neighbor, gate and problems, and the answer came to him in a cold wash. Bond, he realized. _The assassin alchemist that was responsible for Hughes coming through the Gate. Great. This just keeps getting better and better._

"So, uh… has anything else happened that you should tell me about?"

"_Nothing important,"_ Hughes said, his tone going cheerful once more. Ed didn't believe a word of it, but he knew he wouldn't get any other details out of the man right now. _"I can fill you in on the rest next time we get together."_

"Sounds good. Mary and I are in the City now. How about the same place? East Side, around 1:09?"

Hughes chuckled wryly, without his usual energy. _"You and your punctuality. I'll be there tomorrow, then. You two take care of yourselves, all right?"_

"Will do. Bye, Marc." Ed returned the phone to the cradle and forced himself with extreme difficulty to look at Reilly. He could see she was steeling herself for bad news. He just wished he could prepare her for just how bad it was going to be.

"Just give it to me, Ed. Don't gloss over it."

Ed crossed the room, and sat on the bed facing her. Hesitantly, he took her hand, and stared down at it. "It's bad, Reilly. And we're in more trouble than we thought." He found it so damn difficult to look at her, but he'd never been a coward before, he wasn't about to start now. This was his fault, his responsibility, and he was going to face her pain and anger. He got her into this mess and it didn't matter that it wasn't anything he had any control over at the time. He could have insisted on going with Hughes that day he showed up on Reilly's doorstep. But he let her talk him into staying, and now her entire life was being destroyed one thing and one person at a time.


	21. Ch 20 The Calm Before the Storm

"**The Calm Before the Storm"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty**

**Balance of Power**

**June 3, 2006 – 3:33 am**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma **

"_Hello_."

"Hey, Mam. How're things there?"

_"All right. I've been busy with some work-related things lately. Any reason you're calling me in the middle of the night, though? You're never up before nine if you can help it."_

"Well, there was a bit of a snafu at the hospital today. Thought you should know about it."

_"What sort of snafu?"_

"Well, three victims from a car-bombing came through ER tonight. One was DOA, the other two had some nasty injuries. But that wasn't the strange thing."

_"What was?"_

"Some official-looking guy came in, asking for one of the victims by another name."

_"That __**is**__ strange."_

"That's not all. The guy who was asking questions... he was cursed, Mam."

_"Cursed?"_

"By a raven."

_"Oh, I see... you didn't happen to catch his name, did you?"_

"Yeah. It was really weird. He said his name was James Bond, like he was some crazy cosplaying wanker."

_"...son, I have to go. Need to call into work about some stuff. You take care, you hear me?"_

"All right. See you in a few days, Mam."

_"Love you, Llyn."_

"Love you, too."

0o0o0

**3:39 am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Ray sat and stared at the phone, trying to fight the formation of what he suspected was a stress ulcer. He'd come to the front desk after assuring Al he'd come back if anything happened and escorting an exhausted Gene back to his room around 2:30, having to leave in the teen's possession an I.O.U. stating he owed Gene 30 bucks for the poker game. His plan was to sit in the nurse's station until something happened.

Hopefully, that 'something' would involve a certain patient's older brother charging through the doors to claim his lost sibling.

Ray let his head hit the desk with a soft 'thunk' as all of the concerns he'd been thinking took another lap through his mind. What if they _weren't_ coming? What if the Feds had discovered Ed and he was in custody somewhere? What if Bond had found out something and had already killed the boy off, and was just waiting for Al to try and escape on his own? What if everything had decided to adhere to Murphy's Law and had gone to shit?

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely heard the warbling ring of the nurse station phone, until Rick, the nurse 'administrative assistant' – Ray just thought they should drop the smarmy titles and call him a fucking secretary already – saw fit to smack him upside the head. "All that gambling got you down, Purdue?" he asked as he picked up the phone, and then proceeded to ignore him in order to take the call. "Park City Medical Nurse's Station…"

Ray let him talk on the phone, just trying to get the horrid picture of the taller, older Al he imagined Ed to be in the clutches of those Feds out of his mind. The images only halted their merry-go-round in his brain, however, when he felt another tap on his head, this one decidedly softer than the last one. "What?"

Rick shrugged and handed him the phone. "It's for you, Ray. Someone who calls himself… DW? Sounds like some punk kid."

Ray's eyes widened, and hardly daring to hope, he put the receiver to his ear. "Hello, Purdue speaking."

"_I am the terror that flaps in the night!"_

The sheer randomness of that comment made Ray pull the phone away from his ear and _stare_ at it. That line… DW… he put the receiver back and spoke one word, almost a question. "Ducky."

"_Well, I prefer Darkwing, but if you insist. Can I get back to my monologue now?"_

Ray couldn't help it; he sagged into his chair with relief. _It's them! Finally, I can find out just what the hell is going on!_ Focusing his attention entirely on the conversation at hand, Ray tried to sound casual. "Sure, DW. Sorry for interrupting."

"_That's perfectly all right. Now, where was I? Ah, yes… I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am… unable to keep our appointment because my cape exploded."_

Ray winced at the words, and also at what that phrase implied. _So, the attempt went all to pot. Fuck, what now?_ "That wasn't a very good thing to do."

"_Yeah, don't rub it in. Anyway, shall we try this escapade again sometime? Say, tomorrow night around ten? I'm sure I won't light my gas canisters on fire next time."_

_They're trying again tomorrow night. And whatever screwed up this attempt __**shouldn't**__ have an effect on the next one._ "All right, sounds good. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"_No shacking it up with cute chicks? Aw, damn. Anyway, talk to you later, Wall."_

Ignoring the last comment, Ray said his goodbyes and got up, tossing an "I'll be right back" at Rick as he made a beeline for Al's room. The kid would want to know.

o0o0o0o

_Where is he?_

Al had given up on crouching behind his bed after the poker game, and instead sat cross-legged on the mattress, clutching the teddy bear to himself.

_Why isn't he here yet?_

The soft fur under his hands didn't stop the trembling in his fingers, and he constantly looked at the door, hoping. Waiting. Praying.

_He should be here by now!_

He swallowed the lump in his throat and curled more closely on himself, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes. Gene had exhausted himself and gone to bed. Ray had gone to keep watch. All he could do was wait.

He was really tired of waiting.

But the longer he waited, the more Al wondered if something had happened. Something had to have happened; Brother would've come, hell or high water, if he possibly could've. He wouldn't have been late. _Well... he wouldn't have been __**too**__ late, anyway._

The isolated feeling, the sense of _I'm not supposed to be here_ kept growing, and Al curled further in on himself. He felt so _alone_, even with Ray and Gene around. They were great friends, and good people to hang out with, but... but...

_I want my brother._

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't cry. He shouldn't cry. He _couldn't_ cry. He...

He heard footsteps in the hall.

Al sat up, wiping hurriedly at his eyes _he wasn't crying, he wasn't_ and getting off the bed. _It's about time_, he thought, grabbing his bag and going to hide just out of sight of the door. He wanted to be sure it was Ed. Then he was going to punch his brother for taking so long.

However, as he sat and listened to the semi-hurried footsteps make their way down the hall, he had the feeling he was going to be disappointed. They took too long hitting the ground to be his brother's; the stride was for a taller man. And there was no sense of almost-limping that one automail limb would produce.

He knew he was wrong when Ray came through the entrance, and shut the door. "Al, you in here? I heard from Ducky."

_Ducky_. Not Ed. Ducky. _Something happened._

Al climbed out of his hiding spot and looked at Ray, the worry that kept his gut clenched in fear appearing in a quavery voice. "What's going on, Ray? Where's my brother?"

Ray sighed, then crouched down so he and Al were eye-to-eye. The feeling of dread in Al's stomach worsened. "He didn't tell me a whole lot. Just that something got fragged, and they're trying at ten tomorrow night."

Al's heart plummeted into his stomach, and he swallowed back tears that had welled up with renewed vigor. His voice caught, and he looked away. Large arms, warm and comforting, came around his shoulders, and Al let his head drop to Ray's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Tiger."

That one word was the last straw, and all the force of his emotions went into his arms and voice as he shoved Ray away. "MY NAME IS NOT _TIGER_ GOD DAMN IT!!!"

Al caught Ray's saddened look as he turned away, but he ignored it, tears and frustration and anger rushing through his head with the force of a tidal wave. "I AM NOT A TIGER. I AM NOT A JOHN DOE. MY NAME IS ALPHONSE THEOPHRASTUS ELRIC. I... I'm a human being..." All the anger drained from his body, and he fell to the floor, unable to stop the tears this time. "I'm real... I'm not fake..."

"I know you're not fake, Al." Those arms were back, and Ray gave him a hard hug there on the floor. "You're real. You're here. It'll all be okay."

Letting the words soothe him, Al let his head fall back on Ray's shoulder, and cried.

0o0o0

**3:53 am**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Ducky dropped Tom off with a flashlight on one side of the doctor's lot and drove off to park the Ninjavan in the visitor's lot on the opposite side. As Tom started at one end and Ducky at the other --in search of one red Camry that was hiding an injured Maes Hughes-- the older man was grateful the hospital was one of the smaller ones in Tulsa. They would only have to check about 150 vehicles.

Although the lot was well-lit, both men were able to keep to shadows as they ducked and wove around vehicles whose colors were altered by the orangeish glow of the sodium lamps. And how many different shades of red _were_ there, anyway? Tom cursed the advent of aerodynamic technology that made late-model cars more efficient, because it also made them all look alike until one was right on top of the vehicle and able to see the slight variation in trim or headlamps, or –more often than not—just plain shining a light on the glued-on badges that declared the automobile was made by a certain manufacturer.

Fortunately, it was a passenger car, rather than a pick-up, an SUV, or a minivan they were looking for. That eliminated two thirds of the lot right off the bat –they just had to make sure they didn't miss anything that might be tucked in between a pair of behemoths. It was also easy enough to slip right past the more obvious whites and yellows and beiges; it was the blacks and deep blues and forest greens along with the reds that –in the ambivalent light-- had to be paused over to verify that, yes, this vehicle can be eliminated. Then there was the time taken to shine a flashlight on the interior of a possible candidate for sheltering a fairly large man who was trying to avoid an assassin, so even with most of the lot taken out of the search parameters, it was still going to be a slow, tedious process.

Maes hadn't actually given him any real details when he called, mostly that he needed to be picked up at the hospital and that he was hiding. He did manage to tell Tom that Reilly and Ed had escaped –that Maes had actually been in contact with Ed-- and that made the older man feel a lot of relief. All the other questions Tom had whirling through his mind were shoved to the back for later. Maes sounded like hell and they would be able to get what information he had when they found him and got him somewhere safe.

Ducky had acted his normally, gleefully insane self when he had called the Walking Wall to let him know there was going to be a delay, but to anyone who knew him well, there was a definite sound of tension in the hacker's voice. Tom wondered though, if Ducky had picked up on the same things he had. The younger man could be terribly oblivious at times.

What Tom _was_ able to decipher –and not from what Maes had said, but a brief bulletin on the radio as they raced back to Tulsa-- was the man had run into some trouble from an agent of some sort. At least that was his guess after making a vain attempt to add everything up that had happened today.

The reporter who was on the scene of a highway accident had been rather more vague about the particulars than was usual for a story like this, and Tom had the ugly feeling that authorities were being more insistent than normal about keeping some of the details played down. For all intents and purposes, it was nothing but a car full of drunken kids driving too fast, but the subtext was horrifying. Certain pieces of the report didn't quite fit. Little things like the mention of explosions and the reporter's insistence that the accident was in no way connected to an incident at the local coffee house just a few minutes before –where another explosion had occurred.

Between the subtext and the nervous, wavering tone of the reporter on the radio, Maes' call from a doctor's car in a hospital parking lot, Reilly's house, Reilly and Ed missing and signs of a pursuit… Tom really didn't like how the pieces of this complex puzzle were starting to fit together.

Their window of safety while searching was limited as well. Tom had no idea what the schedule of the security patrol was and had even less desire to find out. They had to find Maes quickly and get him to _real_ refuge before either man was stopped and forced to answer some awkward questions.

Wading through the warm, humid air at almost sixty years old didn't help matters. Tom had barely gone through half of the lot and already he was feeling it in bones and muscles that were no longer as limber as they once were. He wasn't in bad shape. In fact he took pride in the fact that he kept active and alert when so many of his old friends were showing what he always called 'pre-death rigor mortis'. Unfortunately, it didn't matter how well he took care of himself, entropy always reigned supreme and it was making its presence known in his back from all the crouching he was doing, and in his thighs and calves in his attempts to move as quickly as he could. As irritating as it was right now, it was going to hurt a hell of a lot worse in the morning. He didn't even want to contemplate what would happen if he had to support Maes back to the Ninjavan.

Maybe he'd just call Ducky over to take care of _that_ problem.

Tom saw the slowly approaching, close-set headlights of the hospital's security golf-cart and caught Ducky's attention to silently signal him just in time for the younger man to hide. He crouched down as well, but kept in a position to see the cart growing closer. If they were lucky the guard would be nearing the end of his shift or about to go to a break and would just give the lot a cursory glance.

His heart dropped down into his gut when the small vehicle took a turn down the aisle he was currently hunkered down in. As it drew nearer, Tom hoped Ducky kept the presence of mind to stay hidden, rather than try to do something stupid. Such as create a diversion. A diversion was not what they needed right now.

He crept around the front of the car he was crouched next to and wedged himself between it and a pick-up, then glanced off to the right to see that Ducky was doing the same only a few cars down. He felt himself relax. The boy was going to do something right this time. Maybe all the head-thumping he'd given him over the past couple years had actually made an impression. Ducky was damn good at what he did, but when it came to working in the field, he needed more common sense and to watch fewer movies.

His relief was exceedingly short-lived, however, because all of a sudden he saw the hacker stiffen and looked for all the world like a cat about to pounce a canary… and then he was up and in the center of the aisle acting like an epileptic kangaroo with a bad case of ants-in-the-pants.

Tom froze where he was, gaping at the younger man, and he imagined that the security guard was probably doing much the same because the cart stopped with an audible bark of small tires. The older man buried his face in his hand and suppressed a groan. This was not going to end well, at all.

Ducky was gesticulating and gibbering desperately as the security guard stepped out of the cart and Tom was able to pick out something about lost keys before the hacker started to wail like he'd lost his best friend. Or maybe it was his best friend's dog. Tom couldn't tell through the soap-opera dramatics.

The security guard, hardly trained in the fine art of handling melodrama, made a nervous attempt at calming Ducky down as he tried to radio for assistance. This only succeeded in causing the young hacker to become even more agitated. He started waving his arms about wildly and "accidentally" knocked the radio out of the guard's hand at the most convenient moment to send it flying and smash into the back of a Jaguar, setting off the car alarm.

Tom sighed and started to stand with the intention of performing some sort of damage control when he picked up a pattern in the way Ducky was flailing about. When the message finally made it past the blockage of being stunned, he gazed in one of the directions Ducky was waving.

_Shitshitshit_.

There was the red Camry, not more than three cars away, and the passenger door was slowly opening. Tom squirmed out of the wedge he'd put himself in and scrambled over to help Maes out of the car and keep him down. He darted around the partially open door just as Maes' feet touched the asphalt, startling the injured man and nearly causing him to lurch backwards.

Maes looked even worse than he sounded over the phone. Even in this dim light, Tom could see the haze of pain in the normally sharp green eyes, his right arm was hidden inside a set of scrubs and he was drenched in sweat. The wet heat radiating out of the car was enough to make Tom limp and he was shocked that Maes had managed to stay hidden inside that sauna for over an hour. It had to have become so unbearable that he had no choice but to open the door. _Thank whatever deities that are watching over us that it's night-time_, Tom thought.

With silent communication, he helped Maes out and into a painful crouch. Then they slowly wove their way to the back aisle of the lot --as far from the baffled security guard and Ducky as possible—and straight to the Ninjavan.

0o0o0

**4:07am**

**Okalahoma City, Oklahoma**

Ed lost track of time listening to the endless cycle of frustrated growls, devastated cries, and heart-stopping thuds of what had to be a head or fists or both hitting the bathroom walls. Reilly had locked herself in there shortly before all the noise began, but Ed couldn't remember when she had left the one-sided conversation. He didn't even remember when _he_ had stopped talking.

Ed had doubted his ability to properly relay Hughes' message without breaking down, but once he began, the words spilled out with the same detachment he used when conveying reports to Mustang. He'd been fine up until he got to the part about Kitten. Remembering the distress in Hughes' voice, however, had opened the door for his mind to wander. If the incident had left Hughes --the same Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes that had devoted years of his career to studying every gory detail of homicide cases like Nina Tucker and Scar's other victims-- close to tears, there was no way Ed would ever be able to comprehend the horrors that had ended Kitten's life.

But his imagination sure had tried to make him understand.

The scenarios grew darker and more twisted with every breath. Gruesome images of carnage and malevolence coursed through his mind faster and faster until they blurred together in an indistinguishable amalgam of death.

…_Alphonse, eyes wide and searching, fingers stretching… reaching for his as he was pulled through the Gate… Nina-and-Alexander, his hand resting heavy on their head, bodies and souls crying… begging for help… for relief… His mother's face on one of the bodies of those creatures, those abominations… Waking up with Winry's cheek next to his when she spent all night by his side after every one of his automail surgeries… The pain… oh the pain… two missing limbs could cause… _

…_A blood-spattered alley wall… A disillusioned man impaled by his own sword… Armor and darkness… Bloody coughs… His mother's dying grip… Alphonse… Brother… slipping away from his grasp… The scent of Winry's hair… The feel of Noa's skin… Shadows dripping from the ceiling… The Truth, taunting…toying… with his sanity… _

Another thud from the bathroom brought the dingy hotel room back into focus. Ed was panting hard, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest. He wiped a shaky hand across his forehead. It came away slick with sweat and he shivered uncontrollably. Struggling to regain control of his breathing at least, Ed ran through half a dozen relaxation techniques until his tremors reduced to a dull shake.

Reilly dissolved into another round of muffled tears and Ed took one more deep breath to find his center. His gaze fell on his duffel, still next to the chair where he'd abandoned it the moment he walked through the door. Shouldering the bag, Ed made his way to the door and quickly undid the privacy lock and security chain. He slipped outside before the noise alerted Reilly.

Edward Elric had spent so long in purgatory; he had forgotten that asking forgiveness was even an option.

He made it as far as the tree line behind the parking lot before his conscience got the better of him. If he was going to leave, he should have done it that first night. Before the bowls of gumbo, once he regained consciousness after punching the ghost of Hughes, or when he found Al's whereabouts -- _that_ was when he should have left. Reilly had been right. Ed had let her in on his secrets and now they were slowly killing her.

_He_ was killing her.

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness stopped Ed dead in his tracks. Dropping to his knees, he pounded the ground until his left fist went numb and he could feel every remaining bone in his right shoulder like he was losing his arm all over again. Exhaustion sapped what little strength and willpower he still had, leaving him at the mercies of the unrelenting pull of gravity. Defeated, and so incredibly _tired_, Ed sank to the ground.

He'd had fallen on his back. In addition to its usual protests the strain of his automail always produced, a newer, sharper pain suddenly appeared in his side. Ed traced the discomfort to something in the duffel he was half-laying on and he rummaged among the socks and shirts until he could extract a thin book.

In the stilted moonlight, his own reflection stared back at him again, and Ed brushed a finger lightly across the printed image of the son he never got to know. He reverently placed his family's memoirs back in the bag, his hand brushing against the corner of another ancestral tome of equal importance, the photo album he had taken from Reilly's place.

This was no time to run. Not when there were so many loose ends he had to make right. If he left, Reilly might still be at the mercy of Bond… and who know who else. And there was the simple fact that –as much as he hated to admit it—he needed the help Reilly and Tom, and even Ducky, could offer to get Al.

With newfound resolve, Ed rose to his feet and shouldered the duffle. He took a deep breath, then forged a silent path back through the trees --back towards their shared hotel room. As he walked, the grass crunched under his feet; a sign that the rain which had accompanied his appearance in this whole mess needed to have a repeat performance sometime soon. Shaking the thought from his mind, Ed walked a bit faster, eyes scanning to where he knew the room was as the hotel came into view and searching the shadows for movement.

It was then Ed noticed a new detail with sickening dread --the window on their room was open. And the lamp on the side table by the bed had been turned off.

Or broken.

Ed cursed his stupidity for forgetting the gravity of his present situation as he slipped along the tight shadows of the building. He stealthily positioned himself directly under the window and counted to ten under his breath. He heard no sound in the room, from Reilly or anyone else.

A battle cry emanated on its own accord somewhere between Ed's despair and hope. He vaulted smoothly through the window and clapped, landing in a crouch with his right arm sporting a lethal blade.

A startled shriek sounded from the vicinity of the bed and Ed slashed high with his right arm as he sensed something whiz by his ear.

"You _idiot_!" Reilly's irritated voice chastised him.

The shrill exclamation was music to Ed's ears.

He heard her fumble around the nightstand until the room was bathed in a yellow-tinged incandescent glow. Glancing around, Ed noted sheepishly that the room was also covered with the fluffy innards of a pillow, the remnants caught on the tip of his arm's sword.

"Can't you enter the room like a normal human being, Ed?" Reilly grumbled, as she rose from the bed. "That was _my_ pillow you just flayed."

"Well, next time find a better weapon!" Ed retorted, flinging the torn pillowcase across the room and returning his arm to normal.

Ed's concern for Reilly's immediate safety quickly evaporated as they continued to glare at each other. Finally Reilly broke her gaze away to lock and chain the door again, double checking that everything was in place. Then her own expression turned sheepish as she faced him once more and nodded towards the window.

"Um… if you don't mind… the window's stuck."

At Reilly's completely ordinary request, Ed obliged, muscling the stubborn glass back into place without a second thought. Reilly immediately latched the lock on it as well, squinting out across the landscape before yanking the curtains closed. Taking a moment to actually think about her actions, Ed blinked once… twice… three times… and Reilly waited.

"Wait a second," Ed said, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Why the sudden obsession with the locks? You just had the entire room open! I came in through the window, for crying out loud!"

Reilly snatched his right hand, flipped it palm-up and slapped a small rectangular piece of plastic into it. "That's because you left your key here."

Ed shoved the card deep in his pocket and threw himself into his previously abandoned chair. "Well," he mumbled, eyes focusing on some pieces of pillow fluff his movements had disturbed, "what if I wasn't coming back?"

When the fluff had once again settled and Reilly still had yet to respond, Ed risked a glance at her. She was staring at him openly with a warm, soft, and knowing smile tugging at the corners her mouth.

"Of course you'd come back."

0o0o0

**4:12am**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Sidney was not a patient man. When he wanted something, he made it a goal to acquire it as quickly as possible. At the moment, his goal was to throttle and flash-burn whoever was responsible for maintaining the intelligence channels and the government networks. He had spent twenty minutes attempting to log on, and each time the page stubbornly refused to load. He had attempted every possible variation of his password for potential errors, and still nothing.

It was inconvenient in the utmost, and he almost wished for the paper-ridden bureaucracy from Amestris, because at least he could terrify the secretaries into producing documents faster. And if there was something he wasn't authorized to access, he could always… persuade them in other ways. If they didn't survive his methods, well. Too bad. He wasn't broken up by it.

This system was theoretically faster, but he wasn't noticing much in the way of productive results. Sidney let his eyes flick to the phone, and he just as quickly vetoed the idea. She was insane. And beyond obnoxious. And it was four in the morning. If she was anything like normal people, she should have been asleep.

But then again, she was Heist, and he had no idea if she actually slept. She seemed to constantly hover alarmingly in place, like a dementedly focused hummingbird. Most likely, she was awake. And she had bragged about her computer skills enough times to make him consider her immediate painful death. It had taken a lot of self-control and the vague idea that he might be able to someday exploit those skills to leave her breathing. Clearly, this was an opportunity for the invested effort of tolerating her existence to pay off. He shrugged and dialed the number.

The phone rang six times before she answered, and it was a mere six seconds before he decided he'd rather she hadn't.

0o0o0

**4:17 am**

**Tulsa, Oklahoma**

Rescuing the guard from Ducky had been remarkably easy. After Tom got Maes settled into the back seat of the Ninjavan, he simply drove up, acted like he'd been looking for the hacker for awhile and made his apologies to the security guard for letting his rather slow and mentally unbalanced son slip his supervision. He didn't care that he was sounding horribly politically incorrect and he didn't think the guard actually noticed as relieved as he appeared.

After Maes had told them which hotel and room he'd checked in at, the rest of the trip was grimly silent. No one was willing to broach the subject hovering over like a thick, black cloud. It just somehow seemed like it would be less ominous if they discussed it while in the warm glow of hotel room lamps.

When Maes filled them in, Tom didn't think there could be enough light in the world to chase away the nightmare they were now deeply tangled up in.

Maes was now sitting stooped on the side of one bed, one elbow on his thigh, his free hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, and he was shaking --in pain, anguish and exhaustion. The man's voice had been a dead monotone when he'd spoken, and his eyes were flat and lifeless. Tom had seen shell-shock before and he knew Maes had been a soldier who had seen action. He didn't think he could be laid low all that easily and it made him wonder what Maes _wasn't_ telling.

He had no doubt that the other man had given the full story of what had happened tonight. He wondered, instead, about the events in Maes' life up to this point.

The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of Ducky's sobs from the bathroom --at least the boy was no longer retching—and Tom tried to make sense of a whole shit-load of things that made no sense.

Reilly and Ed were alive and –as far as they knew—uninjured. Tom was able to figure out where they'd gone to ground from the message that Ed had given Maes. Tom knew the hotel from squirreling away witnesses on occasion. Fortunately, Ed's little brother was still safely tucked away in the mental ward under the protection of a walking wall. Tom grabbed onto those small but positive scraps and held on tight. They could work with this. It wasn't an entirely abysmal situation.

Just a dangerous one.

Three people had been killed… that they knew of. Two of them were strangers –and from Maes' description, likely government agents—but that didn't make their murders any less horrifying than Kitten's. Her death just made it a hell of a lot more personal.

The agent's deaths made the whole lot of them –Reilly, Ed, Maes, Ducky and himself—suspects. The only one in this tangle who wouldn't be considered suspect would be Al, but as soon as they smuggled him out of that hospital, he would become an accessory.

_This is probably killing Reilly_, Tom thought and his throat clenched tight. He knew that she'd realize they were now officially fugitives and it was all he could do to keep from taking off and getting to her as quickly as possible. He'd taught her how to handle a gun, but he had no misconceptions about her ability to use it when it mattered. He doubted that she even took the damn thing with her. He was certain that she was terrified and trying to hide it from Ed, beating herself up right now because she was the one who sent Kitten to meet Maes, and fretting about what to do next. Tom could only hope that Ed would be thinking clearly enough to keep Reilly from doing something stupid in a moment of panic.

_How could she have known what would happen? How could she have known just how dangerous this game is that we're being forced to play? _He knew she'd planned for trouble, but no one expected this.

He looked back up at Maes and felt the man's grief and guilt from where he sat. _Even Maes had no idea that this… Bond was involved until it was too late._

Bond. Tom would laugh, if the whole mess wasn't so damned detestable. He was another alchemist that came through some bizarre portal between universes, and not one like Ed, but an assassin. A man who, from what Maes had said, reveled in death. The Stealthworks Alchemist. Even the name had a dark, sinister sound to it.

It was all starting to feel like a very bad action movie with Stallone or Schwarzenegger (or, gods forbid, _both_), and Tom briefly wondered if he could get a refund on his ticket.

Then, through all the stress and horror and tension and grief, the absurdity of that one thought forced a short, bitter laugh out of him. Maes looked up sharply, like he thought Tom had finally, completely lost it –and Tom wasn't so sure he was wrong.

"Sorry," he said. "I was thinking about the movies." At Maes' confusion, he shook his head, and added, "This—" he waved a hand to encompass the room and everything beyond, "—whole thing is just so surreal."

Understanding and a hint of black humor sparked in Maes' eyes and he responded with a small huff and a nod. "We'd probably flop at the box-office."

"Close down after only two weeks."

"Well, there goes my acceptance speech for that Oscar."

Both men chuckled at the twisted jokes.

"We'll never work in this town again," Tom added.

Maes went somber and looked like he would crumble at the first touch. "I'm… sorry," he whispered. "I—"

Tom waved him off. "Let's not waste our energy over what's done, Maes. We need to figure out what to do next."

The other man relaxed and nodded. "I suppose we can forget about fetching my car," he said. "I'm sure it's being watched."

"Hope you didn't have anything of sentimental value in there."

Maes' eyes went wide for a moment, then he felt around himself one-handed. He looked somewhat relieved when he reached the back pocket of the scrubs the hospital had given him, and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and sagged with a gust of breath. He folded it back, and returned it to the pocket and nodded. "Nope. Nothing in the car that can't be replaced."

The bathroom door opened and both men turned to see Ducky emerge. The boy looked like death, pale and shaking, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

"You still with us, Ducks?" Tom asked softly.

Ducky nodded and fell down onto the foot of the bed Tom was sitting on. The younger man pulled out his cellphone and said, "I'm calling Heist." He faced Tom and Maes, determination setting his jaw. "We're going to need her help."

0o0o0

**4:19am**

**Kansas City, Missouri**

"Oh Sidney, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind! HEY SIDNEY!"

"_Heist_!"

"Relax, it's just a bad eighties mix on the mp3 player. What can I do you for?" Heist pulled her earbuds out and sipped at her third iced mocha of the night as Sid-Siddo-Siddhartha Gautama, freaking grandmaster of agenty coolness explained his newest dilemma over the phone. From what she remembered about federal databases, it sounded like he'd either changed his password and completely forgotten it (unlikely) or he was locked out of the system (and that was never without a reason). Either way, bad.

"Hell's creeping bells," she muttered and balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder to dig through the mess on her desk. She swept off a few programming manuals, four textbooks and a pile of academic journals. At the bottom, she found her hacking notebook, and beneath it her college diploma. She gave it a withering look before she tossed her feet up and kicked it off the desk.

She was still not happy about it. By rights, she should've been in school for another two years, but when they had kicked her out, they'd been generous enough to allow her to continue the coursework from a safe distance. It really wasn't her fault that she got bored sometimes. Honestly. She wondered why they were surprised when she breezed through it all in six months; after all, they paid her to go to college for being brilliant, so the fuckwits should've seen it coming.

Heist rolled her eyes and flipped through the notebook. For a couple years she'd been a cheerful menace on the web at large, and she'd kept a running record of everywhere she'd gotten into and how. The federal databases she'd managed to hack hadn't been as entertaining as she'd hoped, and all it had gotten her was a warning label in the CARNIVORE protocols. That had been a joy to work around, and her father hadn't been pleased when they bugged the ISP. He had a contract with the brains in US-CERT, and the effort of dodging around the government, the civvie wizards and her father's suspicion was too much. Lesson learned, she was good, they were better, all was best avoided.

A few sheets of paper slipped out of the back of the notebook, and she winced at the sight. Two years later and the experiment specs were still perfect. It really should have worked, but the spectacularly unexpected results weren't worth the risk. "H'okay. So. Here's the Earth," she mumbled as she tossed them aside. "And we are definitely going to blow ourselves up."

"_What_?"

"Nevermind, Sid old chap. Nerd logic." The phone chirped again, and she checked the number. "Gimme a sec. New call."

She flipped it to the incoming number and tapped her fingers on the desk as the unfortunate soul rambled blithely on, without any confirmation she was even listening. "Tuckandroll! Landline! I'm talking to somebody on this one!"

"_Sure thing, Heist."_

She flipped back to Sidney and sighed melodramatically. "Yo Sid. Minor problem. This might take a while because I'm pretty sure Big Brother is watching. So you just hang on, okay? I can give you some cheerfully bland elevator music, all righty?"

"_What are you…? HEIST!"_ shrilled out of the phone as she dropped it by a stereo speaker and cranked up the volume on some Oakenfold. The other phone in the room rang obnoxiously in time with the tune, and she pushed off from the desk and spun dramatically around to grab it.

"Palacek Wedding and Funeral Parlor. You marry 'em, we bury 'em. How may I direct your call at this amazing hour of night?"

"_Nice, H. Very nice. Come up with that one by yourself?"_

"Of course not, Tuckandroll, but David de Jesus and the gods of baseball only know where it came from. You know I can't help but recycle your better lines."

"_Tell me you're not buying into that sporty cult, H."_

"Well, you know, five years of fast pitch doesn't wear off overnight." She paused. "Gonna tell me why you're maligning the name of the True Faith at this hour, or do I have to guess, and bear in mind—"

The line clicked, and another voice joined in. _"Lena? Whazzit?"_

"_Howdy, Connie-boy!"_

"_Oh God, it's Darkwing Ducky again. Why do you keep calling us, you maniac?"_

"_You know it's because I'm in love with you, darlin' pretty."_

"_You fu—"_

Heist felt it was time for an intervention, because they could go at it all night, and then she'd be stuck with a grumpy brother in the morning. "Shut the hell up, both of you. Go back to bed Constantine, and if Ptolemy or Roman asks any questions, please remind that I have Docs and I'm not afraid to use them." The line clicked again, and only Ducky was left to deal with.

"_Nice threat. New boots?"_

"Steel-toed half-calves and black as sin. Kitten would be all over them."

Ducky didn't say anything for a long moment, and Heist frowned. That wasn't right: Ducky never went quiet unless he had something unpleasant he didn't want to say.

"Everything okay down there in Oz?"

"…_yeah. 's just been a really long day."_

"You sure?"

"_Another day in Paradise. We were gonna go rescue Terminator Jr. tonight, but you know how it is, best laid plans blow up in your face and all that jazz. It's actually why I was calling. We have need of your stealthy skills, yo!"_

"Interesting. So do I. When was the last time you hit anything government?" She took down a few notes on hacking as Ducky listed off everything he knew, and a few other notes besides. He was too enthusiastic, too into it. Ducky had always been a shitty liar, and he compensated for the lack of truth by making up for it in volume and wisecracking.

"_Why are you tapping the mainframes, anyway? I thought you kicked off that stage like Elvis leaving the building."_

"I'm helping a friend out. I think he might be in trouble and I wanna check." She turned her attention to the computer and got to work. "So which crazy-ass fu 'o mine are you having the need of?"

"_We gotta break into the hospital in Wichita and get the kid out. And we've gotta do it hard, fast, mission impossible-style because there's this psycho agent after him, and probably us."_

Heist hissed in sympathy and paused on the keyboard to flip through her manuals. She had an auxiliary password lying around somewhere, she just couldn't remember where. "That might be my friend's problem. He's not saying, but I think he's being set up. He's been pretty cranky lately."

"_You're helping out a govvie? Doesn't that roll against your freedom of all interesting info principles?"_

"Nope! He needed help. I gave it." The computer chirped confirmation, and she jumped. "Got it! Gimme a min, Ducks. I gotta give him the good news." She reached over for her cell, but paused at the vehement words pouring quietly out of it.

"—_can't believe this… intolerable… going to die too quickly to __**scream**__…"_

That didn't sound good. "Bad day at the office, Siddo?"

"_Never assault me with that noise again, Heist. What do you have?"_

"Dunno yet," she chirped. "Looking!" She scrolled through the records and clicked on _Bond, James S_. She had half a mind to look for her record after Sidney's, but the report that popped up a second later brought all thought to a painful halt. "Fuck me, Jesus…"

"_Heist. What is it? Heist?"_

She shook herself out of staring at the sheer volume of pain onscreen and tried to organize her thoughts. "Some real sick fucker's been having a goddamned death-orgy, and they're pinning the blame on you Sid. I'm guessing that's the guy you're after…"

"_Yes."_

A shrill whine came out of the other phone, followed by a plaintive, _"Heeeeeeeiiiiiiissssst!"_

She lifted the phone to her other ear. "Just a minute Tuckandroll! Almost finished." She dropped it and returned to the cell. "So where's the kid come in, Sidney?"

"_I need him because I think he can get us home. He and his brother are brilliant, really important where we come from, and if they got here, they might know how to get back. I just can't get to him."_

"Oh… Well. The good news is, some friends of mine are gonna try to break him out tomorrow night. Details coming in five, four, three, two…" She returned the main phone to her ear and let Sidney listen in.

"Hey again, Ducks. We are calling me why? Seems you have a plan already."

"_You're the mistress of sneaky pain, Junior Miss Espionage and escape artist. We need help. Will you come?" _

"So let me get this straight. You want me to come to Wichita, break into a hospital, gang rush the surely crazy-mad-ninja security, and make sure you guys all come out in one piece with the Terminator's brother safely in hand?" She adjusted the cell so Sidney could hear better. "Sounds insane."

"_Will you do it?"_

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Tuckandroll. I'll beg off work and everything."

"_You have a job? Since when?" _

_Very funny, Ducky_, she thought.

"_You __**still**__ have a job? How?" _

_Nice, Sidney. See if I give you free milkshakes again_. Though that did bring up an unpleasant reminder…

"Well, if you must know, I got fired," she said airily.

"_What did you do?"_ Sidney.

"_You didn't blow up the building did you?"_ Ducky.

"I did not blow up the building!"

"_You could've. Remember the Franklin Hall debacle?"_ Ducky again.

"That doesn't count, it's not like I was trying to turn it into a crater…"

"_You blew up a building?"_ Sidney that time.

"_But it was awesome!"_ Ducky. Again.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"

"_I'd claim that one. It made news all over, even—"_ Ducky.

"—_where did you learn to do that?"_ Sidney.

"—_was a proud day, that. And remember when your parents posted bail? That_—" Ducky.

"—_can't possibly be in the ordinary curriculum. Have you—"_ Sidney.

"—_been holding out on me? For shame, babe."_ Ducky, goddamnit.

She couldn't take it anymore.

"STOP PLAYING PING PONG WITH MY BRAIN!" She shoved the two phones together. "Entertain each other. I've got work to do!" That was a lie. Mostly, she wanted to know what they'd talk about. She was tired enough to be curious, and she really didn't want to think about The Franklin Hall Incident.

"_Ummmmm… I'm Ducky."_

"_You may call me Sidney."_

"_Right on, Sidney Dangerfield!"_

"_Please don't call me that."_

"_All righty. Danger stranger."_

Four seconds and it had already devolved into drivel. A new record for Ducky, and a headache for her. Heist cast around for a distraction, and landed on the plans for her grand experiment. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Go to Franklin, set up shop in the abandoned science lab and avoid blowing the breakers in the main school lab.

"_So how do you know the Heist?"_

"_Internet café. She helped me with my email."_

"_Yeah. She does that. Really helpful."_

She couldn't imagine it had been terribly helpful to end up leveling the building for the wrecking crew and taking all their equipment with it. She still had no idea what went wrong. She'd redone some wiring, set a current through it and then… She couldn't remember much of it, though God only knew she had tried.

There had been an explosion. She had seen the first signs and known to get out when a power surge took out her voltometer. After that, nothing. At least, nothing that made any sense. She remembered a brief flash of a massive door, and the impression of a huge eye blinking open.

"_Don't you have somebody else to perturb at this time of night?"_

"_You're one of those weird day people, aren't you?"_

Sidney growled something she couldn't understand, and Heist picked up the phones again.

"As fun as this has all been, boys, I'm hanging up now. See you later." She hit the off buttons with authority and glanced at the clock. From an official standpoint, it was about an hour and a half past Very Late. She shrugged.

If she had been anything like a normal person, she might've considered going to bed. She'd been awake for a very long time, and she had a long drive and some hardcore sneaking to do later. Wisdom dictated she be at least a little bit rested for later.

She shrugged. Normality and wisdom could take a hike. She was young and strange and about to embark on something completely insane.

_I'll sleep when I'm dead._

0o0o0

**4:52 am**

**Oklahoma City, Oklahoma**

Reilly insisted that he take the bed for a few hours to rest, she wasn't in the mood to sleep, lack of pillow notwithstanding. For once, Ed didn't argue. His mind was so full with the events of the evening, with Hughes and Al's safety, staying ahead of the Feds and keeping Reilly safe somehow, he doubted there was even room for his usual terrors and old memories of the Gate to disturb his dreams.

He felt himself drifting off as soon as he bunched the remaining pillow under his head. Something still niggled at the edge of his consciousness, though, and he fought mightily with his internal clock until he could remember what it was.

Ed called her name in an exhausted, half-winded breath. She had curled up in the chair much as she could, staring in the general vicinity of the phone, quite similar to how Ed had been seated earlier in the evening when she had been the one in bed. Had it only been a couple of hours since then?

"Yeah, Ed?" she acknowledged softly.

"There's something… in my bag…" he labored, his words growing slower and more faint as he dug deeper into the worn softness of the mattress. "I… you… I'm sorry…"

o0o0o0o

Reilly found the discarded duffel and unzipped it with caution, not quite sure how to interpret Ed's near-sleep rambles. From the top she pulled out the book penned by Ed's son. Reilly had already given it to him, in thought at least, whether she had specifically told him directly or not. It hadn't been hers to begin with anyway; Ducky's eccentric grandfather had given it to her ages ago. She and Ducky had been out in the field --researching a rumored sacred spot in Nebraska-- and they had stopped by unannounced just in time for dinner. The man had been ornery and pessimistic, but his mind was sharp and quick and he caught Reilly off guard more than once. He seemed genuinely interested in his grandson's hobbies and sent them on their way with an overflowing box each of an assortment of books on various subjects he had deemed helpful to their research. Ducky had told her not to feel obligated to keep them, and Reilly's box had immediately taken up residence in the pink bedroom of her youth, where it sat until Ed had come across it.

She set the book down, fairly certain that it was not what Ed had wanted her to see. Reilly doubted she could take reading about more death and depression tonight if she had a full bottle of Prozac in her system.

Her second foray into the bag ended quickly with a sharp gasp.

She shoved aside an already faded black tank top of Ed's and reached with trembling fingers for a well-worn photo album. The genuine imitation leather cover was cracking at the seams and a fair share of the pictures needed to be reinserted in their correct pages after a wild Hummer ride in the depths of Ed's duffel, but it was there, in her hands.

Reilly clutched the album to her chest, unable to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks. A single snapshot of a family portrait slipped from its position and drifted towards the floor, nestling among a patch of pillow fluff.

From his spot on the bed, Ed rolled over and mumbled something about home.

0o0o0

**June 3, 1919 – 4:23pm**

**Central City, Amestris**

Even though the captain had showed her in and told her she was expected, she still hung nervously back at the door. It didn't matter how many times she'd encountered the man behind the desk --or how much he'd changed in the past four years-- she still couldn't shake the feeling that when he saw _her_, he would examine her closely and find her lacking. That was when he wasn't looking right through her, or just plain ignoring her --such as he was doing now. She was certain he heard the door open; yet he didn't look up from the paperwork that littered the top of his desk. His dark head stayed bent over the folder in front of him --tilted to the right at a slight angle as he carefully signed a report, laid it aside and moved on to the next one in the stack. Unfortunately, protocol prevented her from saying anything to garner his attention –she would just have to wait until _he_ was damn good and ready to acknowledge her.

So she waited –while not patiently, at least quietly. It was late afternoon and the sun was beating in through the open, westward windows. A slight breeze ruffled the paper on the desk, but it didn't have the strength to reach her and alleviate the sweat that was popping out under the layer of wool and cotton. Muted sounds from outside filtered in, and she could hear the muffled voices of the staff in the room behind her, but none of that was enough to cover the soft scratch of pen on paper.

She tried to suppress the urge to fidget but she was beginning to melt under the uniform jacket she was required to wear and allowed herself the luxury of pulling at the collar in a manner she hoped wasn't obvious. The Solstice was still three weeks away and already it was threatening to be a hot, humid, _miserable_ summer. She was eminently grateful that her job kept her in what she affectionately called 'The Dungeon' most of the time. The main records archive was buried two floors below ground, and while most found it dark, dank and depressing, she considered it the opposite. It was filled with records that had to be kept in order, and those records were filled with so much interesting information. Not only that, but it was several degrees cooler and she _really_ wanted to get back there. If for no other reason, than that she would be able to shed the heavy jacket that seemed to weigh more the longer she stood there. She was positive that by the time the man behind the desk finally deigned to grace her with his attention, she was going to be a limp, sodden mess.

In complete contrast, _he_ seemed quite comfortable. While he was allowed the privilege of being out of uniform --his jacket was hanging off the back of his chair, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up-- he still always looked as though he was seconds away from being ready for inspection. It was almost irritating just how cool and collected he always appeared and she wondered how much of that image was cultivated, and how much came naturally to him.

_**He**__ asked to see __**me**_, she reminded herself. _And I have something he's wanting. It's not like he would just snap his fingers and I'd disappear._ She saw the flash of red on top of an otherwise impeccable white glove as he laid his pen aside, and closed the folder. _Then again…_

He finally looked up and she felt like hiding from that measuring gaze. She would have thought that only having one eye would reduce the intimidation factor by half in that look, but it only seemed to increase it instead. She swallowed nervously and took a hesitant step forward, the file she brought held in front of her as if it could shield her. "Br-brigadier General," she said. "You said you wanted me to notify you if I heard anything on any unusual tectonic activity?"

He didn't smile. She couldn't see any obvious change in his expression at all actually, but it seemed that he actually _brightened_. "Of course, Sciezska." He held out a hand for the file she brought with her and she crossed the room –a little less nervous, a little less intimidated.

As he opened the folder, and scanned the report, she said, "This came in a few hours ago, Sir. The village is out west. Fairly flat plains, the soil predominantly clay and sand. There haven't been any records of tremors as far back as early last century, but within the past six weeks, there were two. The second one occurred yesterday afternoon and caused minor structural damage to a house and a barn near the epicenter."

"And the first one?"

"_We_ didn't get the report of the first one because it was so mild, and there was no damage. The only reason we know about it now is because it was mentioned along with the tremor that occurred yesterday."

The Brigadier General nodded, closed the folder, and set it aside. "Thank you Sciezska. Please notify me if you come across any more information of this nature." Then with a gesture, he dismissed her.

"Yes, sir." She turned and strode to the door. She was curious about why he was so interested in minor earthquakes, but knew better than to ask. Aside from the fact that the military did _everything_ on a need-to-know basis, Brigadier General Roy Mustang was naturally taciturn anyway. She had her suspicions, but decided it was better to keep her own counsel. She was fairly certain that it was simply a matter of National Security. There was precedent for the concern, after all.

Of course, there may be other reasons just as important.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob, and she debated whether he would be interested in a bit of trivia from a letter she received last week. It couldn't hurt, she supposed. "There was another incident, sir," she said as she faced him and hesitated for the briefest moment. "I have a distant cousin who is homesteading on the plains of Vinland." The look he gave her was bored indulgence. She knew he was barely tolerating this little bit of personal information. "We've corresponded regularly since we were children, so I can assure you that he's not prone to exaggeration."

"Is there a point to this?"

She nodded and moved back toward the desk. "Yes, sir. I know you only asked for tectonic activity in and around Amestris, but this might be important. See, his last letter mentioned a similar tremor in his area. The location shares geological conditions with the first site, and occurred on the same day as the first one out west. And there was another one at exactly the same time approximately 160 kilometers away from him."

He steepled his fingers and was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke again, it was in slow, measured tones. "Vinland is a country on another continent. With an entire ocean between us, I might add."

"Yes, sir. I understand." _That's it_, she realized. _I've screwed up. He'll probably chase me out of here, and I'll be off this assignment._

"How often do you correspond with this cousin of yours?"

"I receive a letter from him about once a month."

He nodded and went silent again. She waited, barely breathing… practically seeing him work things out in his head. When he brought his attention back on her, he said, "Sciezska, I understand your mother has taken a turn for the worse."

The comment was completely unexpected, especially from the Brigadier General. "Uh… actually, sir, she's been im—" The words died in her throat at the look she caught on his face. She suddenly understood that it was vital for her mother to be exceptionally ill at this moment… not that she would ever wish that on her, but still… "Y-yes, sir. Oh, it's horrible, Brigadier General! The hospital is holding out little hope of her improving this time, and I'm so far away. It's way out west, as a matter of fact, but it was the best place to treat her and I'm so worried I won't be at her side if she… if she…" the hitch in her voice wasn't entirely faked, since she had been worried recently that her mother was going to get worse, and she couldn't be there for her –but it just so happened that she started improving before Sciezska could get any leave to visit.

The corner of Mustang's lips twitched as he struggled to suppress a smile, and he held up a hand to stop her before she really lost herself in the ruse. "I'll have your leave request approved in the morning. You'll find your ticket at the counter. Will two weeks be sufficient?"

It took a moment for just exactly what he was saying to her to sink all the way in. "Y-yes, sir. Absolutely."

"I'll expect a full report on your return, Sciezska. And I _trust_ that with your talent for _observation_, you won't leave _anything_ out."

"I won't miss a single tiny detail, sir."

With that, he nodded and dismissed her.

Sciezska returned to the Dungeon in a daze. The full impact of what had just happened only hit her when she finally sat down at her desk. _I'm going on a field assignment. Me! A lowly bookworm, is being sent into the field. _She only hoped she was up to the task.


	22. Ch 21a We Can Make This a Party

"**We Can Make This Thing Into A Party"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-One, Part 1**

**Balance of Power**

**June 3, 2006 – 7:58 am **

**Wichita, Kansas**

Even after blinking several times, Al still couldn't tell what the cafeteria workers had put on his plate. His eyes refused to focus properly --he just wanted to shove the tray away and lay his head on the table, like Ed used to do when he'd pulled an all-nighter.

It had taken almost all night to fall asleep, fatigue finally overriding his worry to shut his eyes in the wee hours of the morning. The little sleep he did get had been filled with nightmares he didn't care to contemplate in the bright light of day. For that matter, he didn't want to think about anything. He couldn't, even if he tried. The food in front of him was a fuzzy, amorphous blob, his eyelids felt like they were lined with sandpaper and there was a low buzzing in his head that did a fine imitation of cicadas on a summer afternoon. Against all efforts to the contrary, his chin came to rest on the edge of the table, and his eyelashes drifted shut again.

_Just five more minutes, Brother…_

The sound of something being set in front of him surprised Al enough to wrench his eyes open again, and his startled gaze came to rest on a clear plastic cup with a yellow bubbly liquid in it. "Huh?"

"Wake up and drink that, kiddo. Doctor's orders."

Al yawned and sat up straight again. "Oh. Hi, Heather," he managed, stretching to get himself marginally more functional. "Drink what?"

"That pop sitting in front of you, sleepyhead. Wow, you really _aren't_ awake, are you?"

"Not really." Going on automatic, Al grabbed the plastic cup and put it to his mouth, condensation cooling on his hand as he poured a mouthful down his throat.

The first thing he noticed was that the drink burned. It wasn't hot; on the contrary, the yellow liquid was almost ice cold. But it _fizzed_, and the bubbles made the back of his tongue tingle as they tried to migrate up his nose.

The taste caught him off-guard as well; hidden in the mouthful of burn was the slightest hint of oranges, almost like the juice sitting next to his plate of breakfast that morning. And as he swallowed the liquid, burn and oranges slid down his throat where it bubbled and trickled down the sides of his stomach. It was sweet; he felt the thick mucous collect in the back of his throat, and he coughed to remove the searing feeling. "What _is_ this?" he choked, looking at the remaining yellow liquid still fizzing in its plastic cup.

"Aww, lucky! I want a Mountain Dew!" Gene rolled up next to him, eying the cup with a bit of longing in his tired eyes. "Maybe then I'd be able to stay awake. I'm exhausted!"

"The sugar would be enough to kick anyone awake."

"Don't worry, Gene. You get some, too." Heather handed another cup to Al's friend and confidante. Gene chugged it in three gulps.

Al took another sip of his own drink and choked again. "How can you just down this stuff?" he coughed out. "It burns!"

Gene belched. "Acquired taste, I guess." He giggled at Al, who frowned deeply when Gene decided to tap his cup. "Let it sit for a few minutes; the carbonation wears off if it sits out."

Al looked at his cup again. He understood carbonation; it occurred naturally in ales and champagne as a part of the fermentation process, but he'd never seen --let alone tasted-- something non-alcoholic that had this kind of effervescence. He also wondered what caused the burn. "How...?"

"They mix CO2 and water with the syrup," Gene said, anticipating the question. "Heather, you sure it was a smart idea to give him a Dew?" He dug into his pancakes, and Al caught a hint of a grin out of the corner of his eye as he stared at the sparkling drink. "You can tell he's never had pop before."

Al decided to follow Gene's advice and let the pop set for now. Instead he got to work on his breakfast, munching on a sausage link as he listened to Gene and Heather talk.

Heather patted Al on the head, scratching his hair with long fingernails. The gesture made him want to close his eyes and purr like a cat. "How much sleep did you get, Tiger?"

_Tiger_. Al tensed a little. Even though he knew intellectually he couldn't go by his real name, he wanted to hear them call him Al, or Alphonse, or even Elric the way some of Mustang's men used to call Ed. Shaking off the melancholy and Heather's hand, he returned to his sausage. "I think I fell asleep around five."

"And you woke up at seven-thirty." Heather gave Gene an amused look. "He can handle it." She pitched her voice so only the two of them could hear in the semi-crowded cafeteria. "He needs the caffeine if he's going to be running around this evening."

"Okay." Gene looked doubtful, then dived into his breakfast. "Just don't come crying to me when he can't sit still for longer than three seconds at a time."

Al stuck his tongue out at his friend when he wasn't looking but Heather was, making the nurse have to stifle a giggle. "I drank coffee in Germany," he sulked, defiantly taking a gulp of the Mountain Dew. He swallowed in surprise; Gene had been right. The carbonation had faded enough that sugar and oranges were what went down his throat instead of the burn of CO2. "Surely this stuff isn't that bad, right?"

Gene snorted and polished off a pancake. "Post-World War I Germany? Dude, their coffee couldn't wake up an infant. It was watered-down mud! Dew is gonna kick your ass."

Heather came in between them, and Al blushed as she ran her hand through his hair again. "Settle down and finish your breakfast, boys. You've got therapy when you're done."

0o0o0

**June 3, 2006 – 2:07 pm **

**Wichita, Kansas **

It was okay as far as parks went, Ed decided. Nothing spectacular, but nice. Mature trees positioned about the entire area kept most of it in cool shade yet they were far enough apart to allow for running and playing.

As he followed Reilly into the heart of the greensward, they passed by a fenced-in duck pond surrounded by adults and children tossing popcorn and bread to the begging, motley-hued waterfowl. In the center though --perched on a pile of rock surrounded by a shallow pond-- sat a lone, pathetic peacock that was missing all but a single tail feather. It was staring out at the milling crowd imperiously, and even after being cruelly plucked, Ed marveled at the bird's regal bearing. An unexpected wave of nostalgia swept over him then, and he shook it off before he could pin down the cause.

Off to the other side, a brightly colored monstrosity had sprung out of a giant sand-pit, bristling with rope ladders, slides, suspension bridges and children. In a way, it was much like the places in Risembool's woods near the river where he and Al would spend hours in make-believe adventures when they were still young... before their mother died and they had to grow up far too soon.

"Hey! No girls allowed!"

Ed stopped and stared over at a watch tower positioned on the far end of the monstrosity. The child's voice sounded so much like Al it was painful. Two boys were holding the tower back from a siege that came in the guise of two little girls in pigtails and brightly colored shorts.

He couldn't help smiling. Those boys didn't stand a chance against two determined little girls.

"_Not fair_!" Winry said as she glared up from the ground beneath the tree house he and Al had spent days building. "_We let you play with us_."

Next to her, Nellie was quietly pouting and giving Al an icky moonie look but she didn't say anything. Ed never understood why she always seemed to be looking at his younger brother the same way he remembered Winry's parents looking at each other just before they kissed. It was really gross in his opinion, and he swore no girl was ever going to do that to him. "_Like we'd want to play with your stupid dolls_," he taunted.

Winry's eyes narrowed and she stomped her foot. "_They are not stupid, Edward Elric_!"

Ed leaned further over the side of the wall –ignoring the complaining creak of the rough, gray planks-- and gave her a very loud, wet raspberry. "_Are too! It's not like they're real babies, ya know!_"

He knew he'd lost the battle –again— when Winry's expression changed from annoyed to something more devious, and he steeled himself for it.

"_Yeah? Well it's not like that is a real fort either_," she said as she pointed up. Then she proceeded to point out every flaw in the Elric brother's carefully designed and crafted (with a lot of sweat and bad words their mother would surely wash their mouths out with soap over) fort.

As far as Ed was concerned, it was perfect. It was high enough in the tree that they could see for kilometers. It was defensible and next to impossible to breach, even if Al would forget to pull the rope ladder up after him sometimes. Okay, so some of the nails didn't get pounded all the way in and snagged their clothes, some of the wood was warped and cracked, and it squeaked and swayed dangerously whenever a gentle breeze hit it. But it wasn't as bad as Winry tried to make it sound.

Besides, it was _theirs_. They built it. And if they didn't want any girls up there with them, they'd earned that right.

"_She's got us there, Brother_," Al said soft enough that Winry and Nellie couldn't hear.

"_So what?"_ Ed shot back, as he snapped straight and crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't about to wave any white flags just yet.

Before he could say anything else, the fort protested the sudden movement with a crack and a loud groan. He saw his little brother's eyes grow wide just before the floor beneath them gave out and both boys tumbled to the ground in a tangle of rotted wood and scraped and bloody limbs.

"_Al! Ed!"_ Winry cried out…

"…Earth to Ed?"

Ed started at the sudden passing of something in front of his eyes, then blinked and focused on the woman standing before him with amusement twitching her lips.

"You okay there?" Reilly asked.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Reilly glanced back over her shoulder and watched along with Ed as the two boys gave in and surrendered to the little girls, then she faced him again and jerked her head in the direction they'd been heading. "C'mon. The sooner we catch up with everyone else, the sooner we can get your brother."

He took one last look back as one of the girls squealed gleefully from the watch tower, then trotted after Reilly.

He caught up with her near a pavilion in the center that held several buildings of varying sizes –not all of them permanent. The smells of different foods --from fried to spicy to sweet-- reached him on the gentle breezes and made his stomach growl, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast this morning. A cacophony of sound rolled over him, from music to vendors hawking, to children playing. Ed wondered if there was some sort of festival going on at the sight of all the brightly colored flags and banners, but Reilly hadn't mentioned any holiday. _Then again_, he reminded himself, _the maul wasn't much different than this_.

Then the breeze shifted and the mélange of scents grew stronger, causing his stomach to instantly –and noisily—complain. "Uh, Reilly?"

She stopped and faced him with her arms crossed over her chest. "Let me guess," she snapped. "Hungry? I offered to get you some breakfast before we left, you know."

He pulled his brows as high as possible, tilted his head down just a tiny bit so that he'd have to look up at her, and smiled as sweetly as he could. It was a game that had developed between them ever since he'd received Al's first email, and while she would feign annoyance, it never failed to light a spark of humor in her and put her in a better mood. Ed didn't expect her to fall down in a fit of giggles, but he'd hoped it would at least take some of the edge off her irritability.

It wasn't that he was oblivious to why she was in a foul mood --he'd been there. Hell, he was responsible for it. But Edward Elric was never comfortable around emotional pain in others, and often felt helpless to know what to do. So he resorted to what he knew best; glossing over it, covering it up, pretending it wasn't there.

"Can you wait a little longer?" Reilly asked, only marginally less sharp. "We'll all go out to eat after we nail the plans for tonight."

"Just something to hold me over for a little while?" Ed's stomach decided to growl again and he hugged it as though he were about to waste away to nothing. "Please?"

Reilly just glowered at him through narrowed eyes and hissed, "Stoppit."

When he feigned the most pathetic look he could –the expression Reilly always called 'the puppy-eyes of doom'-- pain flicked so quickly across her face he thought it might have been just the play of shadows from the trees. A tense silence fell between them and Ed knew he'd crossed a line. He felt a heavy stone settle in the pit of his stomach and he tried to find his voice, but it fled at the shine in her eyes and the twitching of her face as she tried to regain control. What had been a game between them had turned into a painful reminder of Reilly's friend. He'd forgotten that Kitten also used to give her the 'puppy-eyes' whenever she was trying to wheedle something out of her.

She turned and headed straight for the vendors on the pavilion without a word, and Ed silently called himself a bastard in every language he could remember. Then he jogged after her and grabbed her arm. The speed in which she spun on him and the ferocity that flashed across her face caused him to flinch back. "F-forget it," he said softly. "I can wait."

The fierce anger was gone, but she softened a little more and shook her head. "No. No, you're right. We need something to eat. Both of us." Before he had a chance to protest, she'd resumed her trek to the pavilion and the food vendors.

Ed trudged slowly behind her, still cursing himself, cursing Bond, and cursing the whole situation in general. He counted all the reasons why things shouldn't be happening the way they were and they all came back to him. If he had left when he had the chance, if he hadn't fallen through the Gate in the first place, if he hadn't wasted time wrestling with Wermier, if he hadn't spent that extra time trashing the lab… if, if, _if_.

_And if a frog had wings, he wouldn't bump his ass when he hopped_, Tom had said not long ago. At the time, all Ed could do was imagine the alchemy involved to create that chimera --it would have been ridiculously easy, in fact-- but now he understood. There was no point in worrying and wishing for what cannot be. In this world, at least.

Reilly had passed by several trailers before she'd stopped at one that had pink and yellow lemons painted all over it and huge red letters advertising something called a 'funnel-cake'. The badly rendered picture below the words (which he assumed was of a 'funnel-cake') looked like something he wouldn't poke with a stick, let alone eat. The scent coming from the direction of the trailer certainly didn't smell like lemonade, although there was a hint of it in the mix. Instead it had a sweet, fried essence to it that only served to make him swallow to keep from drooling.

He saw the vendor lean out of the window to take Reilly's order –a short, blocky man with deep-set eyes that looked like they would be more at home on a pig than a human. With the crowd and the music, he didn't catch what was being said, but he didn't miss the lecherous stare the vendor aimed at Reilly's chest and Ed's hackles instantly went up. By the way Reilly was acting, he didn't think she'd noticed, but that wasn't the point.

"--dogs, please. With the works," he heard her say as he came up to her.

All thoughts of the slow torture he could wreak on the middle-aged pervert fled when he caught the tail end of the order. The incongruous image of Black Hayate served up on a platter and surrounded by garnishes dashed through his mind, making his stomach flip. He gave Reilly a look of disgust as the vendor mock-saluted and turned to the innards of the trailer. "You're feeding me _dog_?"

"Just shut up and wait, Ed. You'll like it."

The light tone was a little too forced and Ed felt that stone shift in his stomach again. They'd been fine earlier… if 'fine' could be defined by awkwardly avoiding anything that might even hint at the previous night's events and the fact that neither of them had any sleep. This meant that the usual bantering had been replaced by short comments punctuated by long periods of uncomfortable silence. Ed could see the rift growing between them… not that he could blame her any. Kitten's death was on his head, even if indirectly, and he knew he'd never be able to make amends for that.

And now he had to try and fix a new screw-up.

As Reilly handed him a long, paper tray cradling an equally long bun with some sort of brownish red sauce smothering it, he caught the leer of the vendor again, and couldn't believe how blatant he was being. Even Mustang --an incurable flirt and notorious skirt-chaser-- had more class than this creep.

Ed took the tray and poked at the slop suspiciously. His finger felt something underneath, and he pushed it around to reveal a long sausage-like tube of what he assumed was meat, even if it didn't look like any he was familiar with. "So what breed of dog do you people use for this… stuff?" he asked –just a little louder than necessary.

"Hey!" the pig-eyed vendor protested.

Reilly sighed. "No dog, Ed. That's just what it's called."

"Jeeze, kid," Piggy said as he handed a second tray and a fist full of napkins to Reilly. "What kind of an American are you, if you've never had a chili dog before?"

Reilly shoved the napkins into her jeans pocket while she precariously balanced the dangerously sagging tray with one hand, and said, "He's not—"

Ed's irritation was quickly replaced with confusion when the vendor shot him a guarded look that made his vacuous little eyes gleam maliciously.

"—He's German."

Piggy's expression quickly changed to one of curiosity, and he said. "Exchange student, huh?" Then he shook his head and said to Reilly, "They're packin' them up and sending 'em to us younger and younger, aren't they?"

Reilly gave a warning look to the diminutive blonde with a barely perceptible shake of her head and putting a damper on any possible verbal retaliation.

To Ed, he added, "Well, I give you credit, son. You can hardly hear the accent."

The younger man smiled politely, then said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster at the moment, "_Wichser_."

The vendor grinned, nodded and said, "You're welcome. Hope you enjoy your stay here." He waved, gave Reilly's chest one last hungry look, then turned to serve the next person in line.

As Reilly dragged Ed away from the trailer, she asked, "What did you say to that guy?"

Ed chortled softly, then licked the chili off his fingertip. It wasn't bad, but it was rather tasteless compared to the highly spiced foods Reilly loved and he'd grown used to. He was about to ask her just how he was supposed to get around the sloppy mess and eat it without wearing it, when he watched her carefully fold the paper tray down and begin to sink her teeth into one end. "I just called him a wanker," he said with a shrug.

Perhaps his timing wasn't so great, as Reilly clamped down suddenly, causing her to snort chili and start choking. Before she could drop her food, Ed took it and tried to figure out just how he was going to juggle both of the laden chili dogs and help her, and realized it was impossible. He watched helplessly as she leaned against another trailer while she pulled the napkins from her pocket, coughed and wiped at her nose, tears streaming down her reddening face.

When she caught her breath and started laughing, Ed relaxed --and not just because she was no longer choking. As she reached out for her food, she said, "One of these days, that man is going to have a chance to use that word and he's going to wonder why he gets punched for it."

"Damn, too bad I won't be there to see it," Ed said blandly as he followed Reilly's earlier example with the chili dog.

Just before he got his mouth open wide enough to take a bite, he heard Piggy bellow, "Where is that sawed-off little runt? I'm gonna kick his foreign ass up around his goddamn ears!"

Ed froze, then he felt Reilly grab the front of his shirt and yank him through the milling crowd. The sudden force caused him to lose his tenuous grip on the chili dog, and it dumped down the front of his shirt. "Dammit!"

"Careful what you wish for, Ed," she said as she flung her own food in the general direction of a trashcan.

They dashed and weaved through the mass of people to the other side of the pavilion, then Reilly hauled him around a trailer to hide between it and one of the permanent buildings. She fell back against the stone-covered wall of what was probably a gardener's shed and caught her breath as she looked around.

Ed leaned against the trailer and gazed down the front of his shirt to assess the damage left in the wake of his abandoned snack.

"Damn," Reilly said. "That's your favorite shirt, too."

Ed ran a finger through the mess covering most of Icarus and nodded. "Not that big of a deal, though."

"That chili's gonna stain."

Ed glanced up and smiled slightly. "Not if it doesn't have time to set." He leaned over and peeked around the edge of the trailer. When he was certain that they hadn't attracted any attention and had eluded the vendor, he gestured for Reilly to come closer. Then he pulled the hem of the shirt away from his body and said, "Hold that for me."

As Reilly held the shirt out, Ed etched an array through the chili with a finger. Then with a touch and a flash, the sloppy mess dried up and flaked off, leaving the shirt looking as good as new.

"Nifty," Reilly said. "I thought you needed chalk or something to do that."

Before Ed had a chance to say anything more on the subject, there was a shout from the end of the trailer. "There you are you little faggot!"

Ed spun and gaped _down_ at Piggy, who certainly did not appear to be quite that short when he was leaning out of the window handing Reilly their food earlier. The man's belligerent attitude –especially in light of his earlier lecherousness-- would have been enough on a normal day to set him off, but the tug on his arm and a reminder from Reilly prevented it. "We need to get Al."

He turned and started to follow her. She was right after all. Al was more important than some mouthy pervert.

"You stay right there shrimp," the vendor snarled. "I want a word with you."

_Shrimp_?! This day was already bad enough without his height being mocked by someone shorter than he was, and as much as he'd tried to keep a lid on his already foul mood, the pressure surged to a dangerous level. He'd been willing to let it slide when the creep leered at Reilly; he had even been willing to ignore him when he chased them down. But this? It was the last straw and all the frustration and guilt and lack of sleep fizzed out from under the cap in an explosive burst. Ed's entire world went deep red and he twisted out of Reilly's grip. He barely heard her mutter, "Oh, shit."

Like a bristling cat, he loomed over the vendor as he shouted down at him, "WHO'RE YOU CALLING SHRIMP, YOU MICROSCOPIC GNOME?"

"Ed—"

"I FOUND OUT WHAT YOU CALLED ME," Piggy screamed back, with fists balled tightly down at his sides as he lurched up on his toes to meet Ed head-on. "AND YOUR MOUTH IS THE BIGGEST THING ON YOU, YA PRE-SHRUNK MUNCHKIN!"

"AT LEAST I DON'T NEED A STEP-LADDER TO CLIMB A CURB!"

"Now is not a really good time for this, Ed…"

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO BUSY FIGHTING THE FLEAS FOR SPACE ON A RAT'S ASS!"

"LOOK YOU AMOEBA-FUCKING-- OW!!!" Ed felt his head tugged back violently as his pony-tail was yanked and he spun on his new attacker…

…to slam into a wall of tan fabric that had an identical pair of creases running precisely down the center of the spaces between the perfectly aligned buttons and the side-seams –so sharp they could cut glass-- and decorated with a highly polished brass badge and a name-tag that read simply _Officer C. Crabtree_.

He took a hasty step back in order to look up… and up… and up… to meet hard blue eyes set inside a face etched out of weathered granite and shaded by a starched-perfect hat with the dark brown brim shined to a painful gloss. "Uh..."

"Is there a problem here?" the cop drawled, never taking his eyes off of the younger man.

The vendor shoved Ed aside and said, "Yeah, this pint-sized pansy is starting trouble."

Ed stiffened but clamped his mouth shut with a snap when he felt Reilly jerk on his pony-tail again. He reached up to rub at his tender scalp and glared at her.

"Is he now?"

Reilly gave Ed a warning look, then turned her attention on the cop. "Officer… Crabtree, is it? It was an innocent misunderstanding. Cultural differences, you know?"

_Cultural_? Ed caught something in the quick look she shot in his direction, but wasn't sure exactly what it was all about. He considered the situation and decided that now might be a good time to keep quiet. At least until he could figure out what Reilly was up to.

"Do tell," Crabtree said.

Ed looked back to see the man's arms crossed over his chest and a gimlet stare boring into him.

"Bullshit," Piggy squealed. "He ain't what he claims. I think he's one of them terrorists. You know they look just like everyone else. They ain't all sand ni-"

Crabtree cleared his throat warningly as he snapped an intimidating look at the vendor.

The short man cowed. "—er… well, you know what I mean."

Reilly made a disgusted noise then said, "_Really_. He's just an exchange student. English isn't his first language—"

Ed gave her a what-the-fuck look. Amestrian wasn't that different from English, after all. He was about to protest, but then he puzzled out the looks she'd been giving him. A silent command to play along.

"—He had no idea that what he said could be considered an insult here."

Now that Ed caught onto the game, he decided to have a little fun with it. He carefully schooled his own expression to the most innocent he could manage and looked up at the officer…

…Then he started yammering in rapid German as he gestured wildly at Piggy.

"See?" the vendor accused. "And he's probably calling you a mother-humpin' pig-fucker right now!"

Crabtree ignored him, keeping all his attention on Ed, but remaining so stoic that Ed couldn't tell if the cop understood him or was confused at the foreign language and just hiding it very well.

"Oh, he is _not_!" Reilly said. "He's just saying how sorry he is for insulting this fine, upstanding vendor who is only trying to make a living."

Ed stuttered in the middle of his diatribe, since what he was actually spouting off was far more sarcastic, extremely vulgar and had more to do with the Miniaturized Moron's sexual tastes and his mother, than anything resembling an apology.

Crabtree calmly held up a hand and said, "I think I've heard enough." To the vendor, he said, "Don't you have customers waiting, Herc? I can take it from here."

The vendor –Herc—grinned triumphantly. "You're a good American, Crabby. Just don't let that girly look fool you." Then he sauntered off.

Ed's fists clenched at his sides, but Reilly poked him painfully in the ribs before he had a chance to react.

For a long moment, Crabtree and Ed regarded each other silently. The cop's arms were still crossed over his chest and his face remained etched in stone –unreadable and intimidating. Then he said, "You know, Herc might have more mouth than brains, but I seriously doubt he'd ever sleep with his mother."

_Ohshit_. Ed felt the blood drain from his face in a rapid gush to pool hotly at his feet. His brain fled for parts unknown, dragging his voice right along with it. All he could manage was a choking gulp as visions of being hauled off in handcuffs to some dark, dank jail cell galloped through what was left of any rational thought which consisted mostly of a looped _Al's gonna kill me, Al's gonna kill me, Al's gonna kill me_.

"You were also speaking pretty damn good English during your shouting match, so I don't buy the story that you ain't from around here." Crabtree leaned into Ed's personal space just the slightest bit, but it was enough to make the smaller man take a nervous step back. "I don't know what you're playing at, boy, but I suggest you find something less disruptive to occupy your time today. I don't want to have to deal with another complaint that you've let your alligator mouth overrun your hummingbird ass. Are we clear?"

Ed could only manage a weak nod.

Crabtree straightened back up, then the granite shattered with a broad grin and an amused sparkle in his eyes. "Off the record? Those were some impressive insults. Even the German ones. Ol' Don Rickles could pick up a few pointers from you." He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through the thick mass of short salt-and-pepper hair. "Just… leave a guy's mother out of it next time. Them's fightin' words in these parts, and I can't promise you I'll be there in time to keep you from getting your ass stomped."

Reilly gripped Ed's arm to pull him away. "No problem. I'll make sure he behaves Officer."

She dragged him quickly through the crowd and back out into the park in silence, then stopped so suddenly once they reached a clearing that he almost bowled her over.

He never saw it coming, but there was an instant of pain in his cheek and he staggered back as stars swam through his vision. When it cleared, he almost wished it hadn't, because the sight of Reilly stiff and trembling in rage was far more disturbing. "You. Fucking. _Moron_!"

"Now wait a minute! That perv—"

"I don't give a tinker's damn if he was staring at my tits," she snapped, emphasizing each word with a hard poke to his chest and slowly backing him into a huge old oak. "Your short fuse almost got your ass thrown in jail, and mine right along with you. What the hell good is that going to do your brother, if that happens, huh?"

Ed breathed out and sagged against the tree. "You're right," he said as he stared down at the ground. "I-I'm sorry."

She was silent for so long that he wondered for a moment if she'd walked away, but when he looked up, she was still standing there, still stiff. Her lips trembled and tears welled at the edge of her lashes, and Ed felt like a vice had clamped over his chest. Then when she said, "I neither need, nor want your apology, Edward," he felt like that vice had yanked his heart out and crushed it. The disappointment in her voice was more painful than the right hook she gave him.

She turned and strode to the center of the park, where he could see Ducky and Tom and Hughes sitting at a picnic table with some girl with blue hair.

"Real brilliant, Elric," he muttered as he pushed off from the tree to follow. "Alienate the one person who can protect your temperamental ass and help get Al out of that hospital."

As he caught up, he saw her back snap straight and the worried look in Hughes' eyes while he came slowly to his feet. Ed was puzzling over the unusual choice of attire on the man and didn't notice that one sleeve of the deep purple scrubs was empty until he turned just right. Ed felt a sickening horror zing through him until he realized there was a bulge under the shirt where his –still intact—arm was apparently braced. He couldn't make himself look over at Reilly, so he had no idea what her reaction to the man's condition was, but by her silence Ed figured she had to be at least as shocked as he was. Hughes had given him no indication whatsoever that he'd been injured over the phone last night.

"Hughes? What the hell happened?" he asked.

He gave Ed a tired half-smile and gingerly touched the empty sleeve. "It looks worse than it is, really. Just a dislocated shoulder."

"And about a gazillion stitches all over his back," Ducky added.

Ed started at the anguished choking sound right next to him and twisted around to see Reilly collapse into tears.

"Hey, hey," Hughes said softly as he pulled her close with his free hand. He wrapped his arm around her and stroked her back as he mumbled soothing words into her hair.

From that moment, Ed could see, the world consisted only of Reilly to the older man. The people at the table, the crowd in the park, and even Ed were no longer an urgent priority. His presence would only interfere, so Ed shuffled to the other end of the table to fall onto the bench with his back to everyone else.

"Damn, Hughes, I thought I was the only guy who made women cry," Ducky laughed.

Ed didn't have the energy to deck him, although he sorely wanted to. Instead he just gave him a short glare over his shoulder and said, "Shut the fuck up, Ducky."

He stared out at the milling crowd without really seeing anything and every sob he heard from Reilly cut right through him. After a long while, he had a feeling he was being watched closely and rolled his eyes to see the woman with blue hair watching him. "What?" he snapped.

She didn't even show the good grace to look chagrined at being caught staring. Instead she offered out a hand and grinned. "So you're the Terminator?"

Ed ignored the greeting and said, "Who wants to know?"

She pulled her hand back, but didn't look any worse for the snub. "Most people call me Heist. Those that call me anything else usually find their life spans drastically shorter."

_Well, that explains the rudeness_, Ed thought. This was the friend Ducky was always talking about. He had the nasty suspicion that she was too much like the annoying hacker for his comfort. _Great, there're two of them_.

"You know, from the way Tuckandroll was going on about you, I thought you'd be much—"

"You're taking your life into your own hands there, Heist," Tom interrupted.

"—_younger_."

Ed gave her a disgusted sigh and returned to staring out at the crowd, more than willing to shut all of them out at the moment. Except the one thing he really wanted to shut out, he couldn't --but at least Reilly's sobs had been reduced to a soft hiccuping as the storm blew over.

He sensed more than heard something being set down near his elbow and cast a glance over to see a brown cup with a white lid.

"Whoa, Heist?" Ducky said with an almost breathless awe. "You're parting with your triple-shot espresso?"

Ed heard the hacker shuffling around next to him and caught him peeking under the table out of the corner of his eye.

"Where's the pod?" Ducky asked when he came back up.

Heist shrugged and said, "Hey, he looks like he needs it more than I do." To Ed, she added, "That stuff is guaranteed to keep your grandchildren awake, Term."

"No. Thank you," he said.

He watched as Ducky opened up his lap-top, and then Tom asked, "Ducks, what the hell are you doing?"

He was growing irritated at the casual atmosphere among the group. They were all ignoring Reilly, and worse, acting like someone they called a friend wasn't even there. It seemed like the only person who cared was Hughes… and himself, but right now what little comfort he could offer would hardly be welcome.

"Checking the weather in Michigan," Ducky said. "I think Hell just might've frozen over."

That was more than Ed could tolerate. With a growl he shot to his feet and stomped off. He heard Hughes say behind him, "Let him go, Tom. He needs to be alone."

He heard Reilly's voice before it was lost in the distance and the crowd, but not what she said. He wondered if it was appropriately bitter. The Void knew he deserved it right now.

0o0o0

Hughes kept his arm around Reilly as he watched Ed's retreating back. The sloped shoulders and downcast head somehow making the young man look even smaller. He wasn't angry, that much was obvious; he looked...defeated. The last time Hughes could recall Ed like this was after the Lab Five incident, when he'd been fighting with Al. He'd never learned what had come between the two brothers, but it was serious enough to make Al disappear and Ed damn near panic as he and Winry went searching for him.

Hughes didn't need to be a trained observer to notice the growing bruise on Ed's cheek and the scraped knuckles on Reilly's right hand. He didn't know for certain what had happened, but he could take an educated guess. Tension was running high right now, and both of them had similar enough temperaments that this level of frustration was bound to explode out of them in a dramatic way.

He suppressed a chuckle at a memory from the previous time. When all was said and done, Ed had sported a new knot on his head, and Al had a few fresh dents in his armor. With a soft sigh, Hughes thought, _What I wouldn't give for Winry and her wrench right now_.

He shoved the thought away with vehemence. His shoulder twinged in sympathy and Hughes straightened his posture. He'd thought he was finished with such thoughts, but it was hard to avoid every little reminder of home. A child's laughter, homemade apple pie, fading photographs… It was the simple things that brought everything painfully back, but it was the less pleasant memories that weighed on his mind.

Bond was still out there. And he wasn't going to stop at just civilian casualties. The man was a sadist without any sense of limits, and given time and enough loathing for his victims there was no level of depravity he wouldn't descend to. If Bond found them, what happened to Kitten would seem merciful in comparison.

Hughes was going to have to find a way to stop him, but what that would involve…

"Nickel for your thoughts?"

Hughes craned his neck to look down at the woman nestled into his side. "I thought the going rate was a penny."

Reilly shrugged gently under his arm. "They seemed pretty heavy, so that's double the usual fare, and there's inflation to take into account."

He cracked a smile and shook his head. He was going to miss her talent for bringing light to dark situations after all this was over. "I'll return that nickel and add a dime if you'll tell me what happened with Ed."

Reilly stiffened. "I… hit him. He was drawing too much attention and I was frustrated and I hit him."

Hughes paused. It was one thing to guess what had happened, but it was entirely another to hear it out loud. "Someone said something about his height, didn't they?" he sighed. "Ed always goes overboard. Usually Al's the only one that can bring him back down."

"I didn't have to clock him like that. I just lost it. He was out of line but he didn't deserve that." Reilly pulled away, and Hughes realized she was fighting back tears. "He probably hates me."

"Reilly. Ed doesn't hate you." Hughes reached out with his good arm to rub her back. "If anything, he needed someone to knock some sense into that thick skull of his. He's a good kid, and there isn't any hate in him. He'll be fine."

"How do you know?" Reilly asked, and swiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm. Hughes took her hand and smiled crookedly.

"I know Ed. And besides, he's taken worse dozens of times. One little tap like that should barely faze him."

Reilly slumped further into herself and took a long breath. "That's not exactly comforting, Hughes."

"No. I suppose it's not." Hughes watched an ant train crawl along a groove in the picnic table and remembered the first time he'd ever met Ed. Only eleven years old and already as scarred as many veterans of the war in Ishbal. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't comforting to know that Ed had taken infinitely more abuse since then.

He shook it off. There was no point in dwelling on the past when the future loomed unpleasantly in front of them. Ed couldn't see anything past saving Al and Reilly had no choice but to march grimly on. Bond had burned all their bridges for them, and sooner or later he was going to catch up with them. And then…

"Whatever you're planning, Maes Hughes, stop it right now."

Hughes looked up to see Reilly frown in concentration. "Reilly?"

She shook her head and turned a speculative look on him. "I get the feeling you're either going to do something very stupid or very brave, possibly both, and there's no way in hell you're going to do it alone."

"But I wasn't—"

"Yes you were, and if you so much as try anything, I'll find you and deck you so hard you see stars indoors on a cloudy day."

Hughes chuckled, vague plans forgotten. He had no doubt that Reilly was good for her word, and after that Ed would serve up another ration of fist to the face when she was done with him.

Assuming she and Ed ever talked to each other again. He knew Ed would take all the blame on himself and try to solve all their problems, and he was beginning to suspect Reilly would attempt to do the same. If they'd just _talk_ to each other, it would be so much easier to move past the grief and the guilt, but Hughes wasn't sure they would unless forced to.

"I'll make you a deal," he said gently. "I won't do anything stupid," and he amended that at Reilly's disbelieving glance, "alone, if you'll talk to Ed. If we're all in this harebrained scheme to rescue Al together, we need to work together, and we need to be communicating to do it."

"What if he won't speak to me?" Reilly asked. "What if he won't listen to a thing I say?"

"I'll talk to him," Hughes assured her. "Try to knock a little sense into that hard head of his. If nothing else, he'll listen. I promise."

Reilly moved back to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"No problem," he answered lightly, and tried not to think about how much he didn't mind being Reilly's comfort. How easily it came to him. And how much it felt like a betrayal of the fading photograph in his wallet. "No problem at all."

0o0o0

Ed wandered the park for a long while, trying to marshal his churning emotions. He paid little attention to where his feet were taking him until he noticed the increasing volume of high-pitched shrieks and stampeding footsteps. Something small and bony slammed into his side and Ed flailed momentarily, arms pinwheeling, before he regained his balance. He looked around, eyes coming to rest on a young boy who was picking himself off the ground beside him. Not the least bit dazed, the kid grinned and brushed his hands against cutoff shorts already sporting an impressive amount of grass and dirt stains.

"Sorry, mister!" the kid chirped before rejoining a nearby horde of kids caught up in a chaotic game of tag.

Ed watched them play for a few minutes, thinking about all the times he and Al used to wish they had closer neighbors than just Winry and Nellie. _Their_ games of tag usually ended prematurely with the girls complaining that the brothers had been ganging up on them. Then they would go off and do whatever it was that girls did together, and he and Al would be left to entertain themselves.

He had walked the rest of the way around the duck pond, back to the large mess of brightly colored playground equipment that, despite the considerable number of tag-players, swarmed with even more kids than when they'd first arrived at the park. If it hadn't been so crowded, Ed might have considered taking up a swing, but it was more than jam-packed and he hadn't sulked on a swing since he was eight.

Instead he picked his way through the labyrinth of constantly moving bodies, careful to watch out for any other loose cannons veering towards his general direction. The cries of the kids diminished to a dull roar as Ed wandered into a patch of ancient-looking trees. They were too close together, the roots too gnarled and overgrown above the ground for navigating at anything faster than a leisurely stroll. Not the best choice for playing tag, especially with the reckless abandon of the kids by the playground. It did, however, make an ideal place to lose himself in. Concentrating on not tripping over all the nature took more effort than Ed had expected, but it kept him moving and --more importantly-- kept his thoughts away from the earlier chili dog catastrophe.

He continued weaving through the trees, occasionally picking up on a strange high-pitched noise that didn't quite blend in with the game of tag. After circling the same tree half a dozen times trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, Ed caught a glimpse of pink dart behind a nearby tree. He held his breath and froze in his spot. A few moments later, a head full of tiny braids slowly inched its way into view. It was followed by a pair of large, chocolate brown eyes that widened even more when they realized they'd been caught. The head disappeared, and Ed heard the noise again. A child's giggle. He waited briefly for the owner of the giggle to make another appearance, then resumed his walk.

The kid kept following him, hiding when he paused, laughing when he glanced over his shoulder. After a while he even found himself smiling at their little game. They continued that way until an older voice in the distance called a name, breaking their companionable silence. At this, the kid --a little girl in a pink shirt and faded overalls-- broke her gaze away. She began trotting back towards the playground, but not without giving Ed a dazzling smile and a friendly wave goodbye.

Without the distraction of the little girl and the cacophony of the crowded park muffled by the trees, Ed was left alone to do what he came out here for in the first place. He leaned back and slid down the trunk of the nearest tree. Squatting down in the dirt, he rested his arms on his knees and tried to figure out just how he was going to fix things --hopefully without screwing them up worse.


	23. Ch 21b We Can Make This a Party

"**We Can Make This Thing Into A Party"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-One, Part 2**

**Balance of Power**

Reminder: This is Part Two!

**June 3, 3:15 pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Even after a full morning of playing on the computer, therapy, and going to say goodbye to the babies in neonatal one last time, the after-effects of caffeine had Al twitching. _Gene wasn't kidding when he said I wouldn't be able to handle it_, he thought, making his way back to B-Mod and trying not to tremble from the chemical. Holding the infants was relaxing, but he was just too keyed up for it to last long in the enforced quiet that neonatal required.

Wandering the halls, he wondered where Gene was. He never joined in with the neo-natal visits, citing no desire to be spat up on by podlings. He was always back before Al had finished his visit, too, either reading or trying to con Rick into letting him use the computer again.

He was also always a little more tired after Al got back, as though he'd been working hard. So, in a fit of impulse, Al turned and headed for the therapy wing. With Gene's limitations, it made sense that the guy would work on therapy more than one kid with a mostly-healed broken arm.

Al flexed his arm as he walked, surprised at how much muscle mass he'd regained already. He'd been diligently retraining it, and while his left arm was still significantly thinner than his right, it no longer looked weak. It could probably hold up to a lot now. He relaxed the arm, letting his hand dangle, and massaged the muscle. _It should be fine for this evening…if Ed doesn't decide he needs to trash the hospital._ The thought made his stomach churn, and he sighed. _I'll stop him if he tries. They helped me a lot, so there's no reason to destroy the place. Besides; Gene still has to stay here._

With that thought in his mind, Al turned a corner and spotted Gene in the therapy room, an assistant holding his legs in place. He paused to watch, and almost wanted to look away as Gene struggled to sit upright, his progress slow and clumsy. There was very little muscle that bulged as he worked, and half of his leg didn't flex at all.

_He looks so…awkward._

Watching as Gene struggled to sit upright it was easy for him to remember how his brother had looked, missing two limbs and still healing before surgery. He'd tried to do everything by himself, and the handicap of not only being sans an arm and a leg but completely off-balance often conspired against him.

"_Brother! You shouldn't be trying to move on your own_," Al said as he clanked over to Ed, sprawled on the floor in a tangle of sheets and bandages. "_Here, let me help you_."

"_I can do it, Al_." Completely ignoring the offer to help, Ed hauled himself one-handed into the wheelchair he'd become completely dependent on. "_But… could you take me to the shower? I smell awful_."

He didn't need to ask. It didn't take long for Al to push him out back, where he could help his brother keep his balance while the shower ran. And as Ed washed his hair one-handed, Al was shocked at how hard even the simplest tasks had become. Something menial and private, like Edward cleaning himself, had suddenly morphed into an ordeal involving an outside person.

Al didn't mind that he had to take care of his brother. That was what they'd done ever since their mother had died. What they would do even in metallic bodies. Even with missing limbs. But it hurt, seeing how much it grated on Ed's nerves to have to ask for the help.

"_Al, could you hand me the soap?" _

"I CAN'T DO THIS!"

Al dragged himself out of the memory as he heard Gene yelling at the top of his lungs, and ran for the therapy room. He stumbled through the door and onto the view of Gene trying to get the therapy assistant away from him, as much as legs and skinny arms would let him.

"Get away! I can't do this anymore! What's the fucking _point_ to it??"

He didn't stop to think. Shoving the assistant out of the way he wrapped his arms around his friend. "Hey, Gene! Calm down! It's just me!" The flailing stopped, so Al took advantage of it and hugged his friend tight. "What's going on, Gene? What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" As Al expected, his friend shoved him away and rolled, trying to get to a place where he could face him. The therapy assistant hovered above both of them, but Al ignored him. "What _isn't_ wrong? My legs don't work because I fucking _fell_ down a _hole_, I can't even do _twenty_ damned sit-ups, my parents hardly care that I even exist, and you have the fucking nerve to ask me what's _wrong_???"

Al waved at the assistant to get him to go away, and settled down.

The therapist gave him an uncertain look, but something in Al's demeanor must have convinced him that it was all right, because he nodded and got to his feet. "I'll wait over there," he said as he gestured to the far end of the gym. "Any problems and I'll be right on both of you like a coat of paint. Got it?"

Al smiled and nodded, and waited until the man was out of earshot before he faced Gene again. "Wanna tell me about it?"

"What, so you can psycho-analyze me the way the quacks in this hospital do?" Gene pulled himself into a sitting position, maneuvering his legs with his hands. "I don't need any shit like that."

"Psycho-analyze?" Al shrugged at the term, and decided it wasn't important. "I'm not trying to do anything. I just want to hear what you have to say, okay?"

There was silence for a long time as Gene just sat there, rubbing at the thigh muscles that had failed him so many times. Long enough that Al half-expected Gene to just maneuver himself back to his chair and go away. He hardly expected him to speak.

"My parents aren't the shiniest pennies in the bank, for one. Neither are the people who work for them."

The resentment was thick enough that Al almost thought Gene was smothering under it. "Howso?" Realizing just how that sounded, Al coughed and hedged a bit. "I'm sorry, it's really rude of me to ask, and I don't want to do something like my brother would and insult you by badgering you about it..."

Gene let loose a laugh that sounded real enough, which made Al feel slightly better. "Your brother must really be something. When it's just us, you mention him almost every two minutes."

"Well, I miss him. He's hard to ignore, even if he is kind of short." He pictured what his brother would do if he'd heard that comment, then caught onto what Gene was trying to do; it was a trick Ed sometimes pulled. "And stop trying to change the subject."

The depression was back on Gene's face, but Al didn't dare retract his statement. His friend _needed_ to talk about this. Just looking at him, Al could tell he'd held it in for too long and that there was too much resentment and anger for it to have been something simple.

"My parents didn't really try to raise me, when I was younger," he started. He didn't look at Al, but played with his shoelaces. "Instead, they hired out my care to a nanny service. Some woman came and watched me all day, until I was about four. That was when I got a really spacey nanny, who watched soap operas more than me."

Al couldn't believe a mother would do something like that. Remembering his own childhood, he was suddenly even more grateful than normal to how his own mother had raised him and his brother. "Soap operas?"

There was a smile again. An actual amused one. "Really bad TV shows."

Al smiled back. "All TV shows are bad."

"Touché. Anyway..." Gene rubbed at his leg again. Al figured he probably needed some time to think, so he kept quiet. "I fell, when I was four," he said eventually, in a very quiet voice. "There was a big hole in the backyard, because my parents were putting in a pool. I wandered away from my nanny, and fell in."

Al remembered one time when he and Brother had fallen out of a fort they had built. The girls, Winry and Nellie, had panicked and run around the remains of the fort he and his brother had slaved over, crying out for both of them. But the only injuries they'd had were a couple of bruises, splinters, and one very large shiner for Ed. _Is it something other than just a fall, I wonder?_ "Was it a really steep fall?"

"Not really." Gene's voice had taken on that flat sound, the type of tone that Al had sometimes heard in Germany, when veterans from the War spoke of their injuries. A coping mechanism, one that distanced the injured from the event. "Apparently, when the nanny panicked and picked me up, the damage that was already done became a lot worse. I probably would've been fine, had she just admitted to losing track of me and called an ambulance instead of taking me inside and pretending I'd been playing in the nursery all afternoon." Looking up, Al could swear he saw tears in his friend's eyes. "But instead, I'm stuck in that fucking monstrosity, and I can't even do a few simple sit-ups. Because some moron my parents _hired_ to raise me didn't want someone to know she hadn't been paying any attention." He flopped onto the ground and stared at the ceiling. "What do you have to say to that?"

His friend laying there, vulnerable, reminded Al too much of seeing his brother helpless, and him unable to touch or comfort his brother. "You're alive, though. Right?"

"You call this _living_?" Gene gestured wildly at his legs. "I'm nose-to-crotch with most of the world, stuck in a freaking remote control _chair_ that no one can see past. My parents view me as either a commodity or a burden they have to 'make better'. I can't run, can't walk on my own, and no one wants _anything_ to do with me. Fuck, I can't even roughhouse with the one guy that's even been _somewhat_ nice to me." His eyes dared Al to say anything. "Do you really call that a life?"

"Yes, actually." Before Gene could get a word in edgewise, Al continued, sprawling on the ground next to his friend. "It's not an ideal one, true. Not even a really favorable one." He rested a hand on Gene's knee and squeezed. "But you're alive, and you're breathing. You can reason, a lot better than most of the people in this ward. You can feel, even if it's not in the way you really want to." He squeezed harder, and smiled as Gene reacted to the sensation this time. "You have a soul, Gene. You're still alive, still breathing. The flow of life hasn't stopped for you, yet. Don't let it before you're ready." He paused. "...though why do you want to roughhouse with me?"

Gene sighed and stared at the ceiling. "It has to do with my dad."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah." Working hard, Gene turned on his stomach, and propped his chin on his hands. "My dad wrestled in high school. Went to the state competition, too. He has all these trophies on the wall from things he placed in." The depressive air around him grew worse, and Al almost saw his friend deflate from it. "I wanted to do something like that. But I can't now."

"Who says you can't?"

"My legs." He sighed. "Wrestling takes a lot of leg strength. A lot of lower body strength, and a lot of upper body strength. Mine's just not up to it."

Al smiled. Here was a way he could help his friend. "Wanna bet?"

Before Gene knew what hit him, Al had pounced. A lock that Al had once used on Ed as a kid was quickly thwarted by some fast maneuvering on Gene's part, and soon Al found himself pinned by the arms. He unbent his elbows and slid out of the lock, wincing as Gene accidentally clocked him going for his waist to pin him. He was laughing, and struggling, and his movements were jerky. But they wrestled for a good few minutes, until the assistant came over.

"Hey, boys, boys! There's no need for this!"

"Yeah there was." Neither one was really sure who had won, but Al was certainly feeling less twitchy. And Gene looked about ready to burst his seams with smiling. "We both needed it."

The assistant frowned. "Well, next time? Warn a man before you do something like that. Okay?"

Al and Gene both blushed, then laughed at each other. "Okay." Al's stomach rumbled in irritation as the therapy assistant cleaned up the room, and he made a face. "You know something, Gene? I now understand why Brother always complained about hospital food."

"It's either bland and tasteless, or so chock-full of vitamins that the taste of zinc and iron overwhelms your poor tastebuds?" Gene refused help and made it to a position where he could get back into his chair. "Be grateful you've only been having it for a few weeks."

"That, and I'm hungry again." Al smiled tiredly. "Maybe your mom'll cook you something when you get home."

Gene thought about that for a few minutes, and smiled back. "Maybe." He maneuvered himself into his remote wheelchair, and laughed. "Though I'm not sure I'll want to eat it."

0o0o0

Ed was certain this was where the group had been sitting. He looked around for familiar landmarks, and mentally kicked himself for not paying closer attention earlier… but it looked like the right place. Except instead of Hughes or Reilly --or anyone else even slightly familiar-- there was a large, dark-skinned family setting out an even larger spread of food that was literally painful to look at. Among them, he spotted the little girl who had followed him earlier, carrying a bowl to the table that was nearly as big as she was and making a valiant effort to see around it.

Panic welled up as he scanned the area nearby, and still he saw no sign of anyone familiar. _They left_? Had he really messed up so badly this time that even Hughes would abandon him? Ed shook his head to clear it. Not possible. And even if Reilly was furious with him, she wasn't vindictive.

A handsome woman with a quiet dignity about her that reminded Ed so much of Hawkeye it hurt approached him from the laden table and asked, "Are you looking for your friends?"

"Uh, yeah… I _think_ they were at this table earlier."

She smiled warmly, took him lightly by the shoulder and turned him. "You walked right past them, hon."

Ed instantly relaxed. They were no more than 30 meters away, scattered around a large blanket that was dominated by a reclining Hughes. Ducky and Heist were intent on their lap-tops and Reilly was leaning against Tom, who held a comforting arm around her shoulder. The stone in the pit of his stomach grew into a boulder and decided that now was a good time to learn how to roll over when she dabbed at her eyes. Hughes reached out without actually looking, and offered his hand to her. She squeezed it with a sad smile and Ed was amazed once more at how the man always seemed to know just the right thing to do or say to make someone feel better.

He faced the dark-skinned woman and said, "Thanks." Without meaning to, his eyes darted to the food that was miraculously multiplying on the table, and with effort he forced them back to the woman. "Thanks," he said again and started to move to the group on the blanket when he felt her hand on his shoulder once more.

Her smile was, if possible, even warmer than before, as she said, "Why don't you and your friends join us. We have more than enough."

It took a moment for Ed to process just what she was saying and he felt his jaw drop. "Join you? F-for the food?"

"Of course."

Ed gulped, half from shock, half from the feeling that his stomach had suddenly decided to start eating itself from the inside. He felt completely out of his element at that moment. Had this been Resembool, or even Central, he wouldn't have hesitated. An invitation like this wasn't given unless sincere, but here he'd seen people say a lot of things they didn't really mean. Sometimes out of anger or ignorance, sometimes out of politeness. He weighed the options then shook his head. "Thank you, but no. We couldn't impose."

She chuckled, a deep, rich sound that was naturally soothing. "On the contrary, we were the ones who imposed, and your friends were kind enough to let us have the table. Besides, wasting good food is a sin. I insist."

His stomach chose that moment to loudly voice its own opinion and he made a mental note to have a long talk with it about its rather manic-depressive behavior today. It wouldn't do to have it flop yet again and he lose his lunch. After all, as the woman said, wasting good food was a sin. "Thank you. I'll go tell them."

He stared to dash off when she said, "Do you have a name?"

Chagrined he nodded and said, "Sorry. I'm Ed."

She held out her left hand and he took it. Her grip was as warm as her voice and strong without being crushing. "Hello, Ed. I'm Johnna. And I'll introduce you to the rest of the family when you get back with your friends."

"All right. Be back in a minute."

As he approached the group, he caught part of Tom's comment to Ducky, and wondered just what the hell they were planning for tonight.

"—you can't crawl through the ducts, you idiot. They only do that in the movies."

"Aw c'mon, me and Ed are small enough to pull it off, and we'd avoid the security cameras."

"I don't give a shit how small you two are, if –and that's a very big if—you could even squeeze your skinny asses up in there, they wouldn't support your weight."

Heist looked up from her lap-top and said, "Actually, they could do it."

"You're not helping here, woman."

She twirled the computer around in her lap to show Tom a schematic that Ed could see over his shoulder as he approached. "The building is late 19th century. The ductwork came in about early 20th century and was huge. From the looks of things, it's all still in use. Big enough that you could damn near drive a golf-cart through, anyway."

"Ugh," Tom groaned. "Let's not mention golf-carts right now."

"You have to admit that was sheer brilliance on my part," Ducky said, then looked up and grinned at Ed. "Hey, Terminator. Feel up to crawling through some air ducts tonight?"

"Will it get Al out of there?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

Ed didn't bother to try to puzzle that one out, and said to the group at large, "We've been invited to lunch."

Hughes opened one eye. "By who?"

Ed pointed back at the family that had taken over the table and made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder at the same time. The amount of food had multiplied even more than just a moment ago. No wonder they were invited to join them. "Damn," he muttered in disbelief.

"I think they were just being polite, Ed," Tom said without taking his eyes off the computer screen.

Hughes sat up and stared openly at the table. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Tom looked back and did a double-take. "Damn."

Hughes stiffly got to his feet, and smoothed out his scrubs. "Well, you can sit here and starve. I'm accepting the invitation."

0o0o0

Ed could have sworn he saw the table bending under the weight of all the food. A tangy-spicy-sweet smell wafted around the offerings from the grill, there were heaping platters of neatly cut vegetables, and several bags of those crispy potato things they used to dip in Hughes' guacamole. Incredibly, Ed even spotted a small bowl of some familiar-looking green spread. He counted no less than six different noodle dishes and --_are those cookies?_

He felt a warm grip on his left shoulder and he instinctively grabbed the paper plate that was pressed into his hands.

"You can blink, dear, the food's not going anywhere," their culinary benefactor said with a laugh. Johnna then handed him a set of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin and picked up another plate. "Any ideas about what your friend might like?"

Ed followed her nod over to Hughes, sitting stiffly in a canvas folding chair. Away from the others, his everything-is-fine demeanor had degraded to one filled with pain and exhaustion. A grimace flicked across his face and his hand reached up to gently probe his injured shoulder. Ed turned back to the food table guiltily; he still hadn't heard how Hughes had gotten hurt. Johnna peered at him, holding the empty plate expectantly. Ed cleared his throat, "Umm, I'm not really sure what he'd like... but he'll be fine with anything." _Because that's just how Hughes is..._

"A little bit of everything, then," she said. "We can always get him seconds of the things he likes best."

Ed mirrored Johnna's actions, taking a small portion of most of the dishes. By the time they reached the other end of the table, his plate was very nearly overflowing, especially after she balanced two golden squares of some yummy-looking dessert on top of his hamburger bun. "You don't want to miss out on those, hon. They're always the first to go."

Johnna made her way over to Hughes, materializing a small folding tray for his plate somewhere along the way, but Ed hung back with the food. He glanced around; Ducky and Heist were filling their own plates, Tom was talking amiably with a middle-aged man by the grill, and farther away Ed could see Reilly just now leaving the temporary security of the group's picnic blanket. Arms wrapped around herself and head bowed low, she looked more defeated than Ed had felt since he'd arrived, being without his brother. She joined Tom and his new friend and surveyed the area. When she pointedly skipped over him, Ed's appetite completely disappeared.

He glanced down at the feeling of a light tug on the hem of his shirt. Peeking out from under his plate was the little girl from the trees. She gave him another wave.

"Come sit with me!" she exclaimed. With his shirt fisted in her tiny grip, Ed had no choice but to follow as she walked away. She led him to a quilt that had been neatly laid out next to Hughes' chair and in a gravity-defying move that only a small child could accomplish, she jumped, crossed her legs in mid-air, and landed with a rattle of beaded braids --all without letting go of Ed's shirt. He almost ended up wearing his lunch for the second time that day and scrambled to keep the plate level as he dropped down onto the quilt with a muffled thud. She waited until he had settled his plate more securely on his lap before picking up a half-eaten dog that looked much cleaner to eat than the one Reilly had ordered for him earlier.

Johnna bustled back to them and handed Hughes a cup. "There ya are, darling. Now you just concentrate on eating and try to relax a bit." She rounded on Ed, studying him close. "And how are you doing? Did Tessa get you a drink? She didn't, did she?"

The little girl jumped up with a squeak, dropped her hot dog and ran towards a smaller table covered in an assortment of pitchers and jugs. The hot dog bounced off her plate and landed mustard-side down on the quilt. Johnna sighed, returned it to its appropriate place, pulled an extra napkin out of thin air and in less than ten seconds had the yellow spot cleaned enough that Ed could barely see it.

Ed felt a rush of guilt at just helping himself to all this wonderful food and not offering anything in return, and said, "Can I give you a hand with anything?"

Johnna stopped her straightening of the quilt and gave him a measuring look. "Yes," she said after a moment. "You can eat up." She nodded back at the enormous spread and the brood that had gathered. "My kids won't take much home with them, and they all seem to think that Henry and I will starve to death if they don't pile all the leftovers on us. Unfortunately, even with the boys, too much of it will spoil before it's all eaten."

Ed gaped. He'd counted eleven adults, not including Johnna and her husband; he kept losing track of the number of teens and children. "They're... _all_ your kids?"

She laughed. "Well, six of them I gave birth to, but yes." She pointed out the small cluster of five teen boys. "When my youngest went off to college, Henry and I decided the house was too big for just the two of us, so we fostered the boys. The rest are my grandchildren."

Ed could only stare. The woman hardly looked old enough to be the mother of the teens, let alone six adults.

"The holidays must be a lot of fun at your house," Hughes said.

"So is every other day, Maes. The house is always full with the neighborhood kids. My children's childhood friends and their kids are always coming to visit, same with members of the parish. Henry and I have been blessed with a lot of love and a very large family." She gave Ed a pat on the arm as she got to her feet. "Family is not always defined by blood, after all."

A sudden shout from the general direction of the teens caught Johnna's attention. With a shake of her head and a soft sigh, she gave Hughes and Ed a slight bow. "If you'll excuse me. One thing about a large family? There's never a dull moment." Then she buzzed off to break up the impending fight.

She patted Tessa on the head as the little girl skipped by with a clear plastic cup full of a red liquid, and the little girl instantly changed her gait to one less likely to slosh the drink all over the place. When she reached Ed, she thrust the cup at him, and said, "Here! I brought you my favorite."

"Thanks." Ed took a sip of the overly sweet, semi-fruity concoction as Tessa returned to her spot next to him and tore into her dog voraciously. "What is it?" he asked.

She giggled and said around a mouthful of food, "Cherry, silly!"

"Ah. Of course," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking, not to realize that this was cherry." Ed took another sip and tilted his head curiously. "In fact, I think this is probably the best cherry I have ever tasted."

Tessa seemed to find Ed's comments uproariously funny as she fell back on the blanket in a gale of belly laughs. They were contagious, and Ed felt himself cheering. Then he glanced up, and saw something that flit quickly across Hughes' face --a look of pain that wasn't physical-- then he glanced at Ed and smiled.

A moment later, Tessa was back up and dashing off for reasons only known to her. Hughes watched her, and Ed saw the longing in the man's eyes. He stared down at his plate, once more unable to find something to offer as comfort. Of all the people to be trapped somewhere they didn't belong, Hughes deserved it the least... yet he made the best of it.

Shame wrapped around Ed, then. He and Al had made their choices and he should accept the consequences. Good, bad, or something between, it didn't matter. Instead for the past few months, all he could seem to do was to sulk over the whole situation. Worse, out of all of them, Ed had lost the least. He was separated from Al, but that was only temporary. Hughes lost his family; Ducky, Tom and Reilly lost a friend, and more. And now their lives were in danger.

It was all spiraling out of control, and Ed considered once more taking Al and just disappearing. Maybe the trouble that always seemed to show up whenever he was around would follow him and leave the rest of them in peace.

"She thinks you're mad at her," Hughes said.

Ed's head shot up. "Huh?"

Hughes wasn't looking at him though, and he followed the man's gaze to see Reilly and Tom sitting on their blanket together -separated from the rest of the party-- their heads bowed and touching. He could see Tom rubbing the back of her neck as he talked to her and his other hand holding one of hers. An occasional nod came from Reilly, but she didn't meet the older man's look.

"For losing her temper like she did," Hughes explained.

Ed's hand instinctively came up and he rubbed at the tender spot on his cheek. "I deserved it," he said.

Hughes chuffed. "That's what I told her."

"Thanks... I think."

He continued watching the two of them, and noticed that Reilly seemed to be in at least a better mood than earlier. Ducky chose that moment to flop down on the blanket next to her and he said something that Ed couldn't hear, but the result was that Reilly gave him a good shove that tipped him over and his insane cackle carried on the breeze.

"Can't that asshole ever be serious for a minute?"

"Ducky's like me," Hughes said. "We'd rather put on a happy face than let people see how much we're hurting. And Tom? He's hardly said more than five words at a time since last night. Reilly's... overwhelmed... And you're more irritable than usual. We're all upset about what happened and we're all dealing with it in our own ways." He pushed his glasses further up on his nose, "But we still have to move forward, right?"

"Yeah," Ed said as he looked down at his plate without really seeing it. "Yeah," he repeated.

Tessa returned and plopped back down in her favorite spot next to Ed. Without a word, she started chomping away at a yellow square like Johnna had given him earlier.

"I think I've been adopted," Ed said as he watched the little girl devour her dessert with a low trill of happy noises.

"Providence only knows why," Hughes said with mock disgust. "Come on. Eat up. Then you can fill Al in on the great stuff he's been missing."

"Like decent food?" Ed bit into one of the yellow squares from his plate, and grinned at the taste of sugar and some sort of puffy, crunchy substance that looked kind of like grain. "We should keep one of these for him. I'm sure even here, hospital food sucks."

Silence fell between the two of them once more, but this time it was comfortable. As Ed watched the family interact with each other and their new found friends, he noticed that the motley group he was a part of had grown relaxed. Johnna had spent quite a bit of time --between herding children, pushing food and general buzzing about to make sure everyone was taken care of-- talking to Reilly. Occasionally she would glance back Ed's way, and always there was a look of compassion and acceptance. He wondered just what Reilly had said to her.

He suddenly felt a small body fall against his side and glanced down to see that Tessa was heavy-lidded and sucking her thumb. Without a thought, Ed draped his arm around her and an instant later she was asleep. He was officially stuffed and he needed to toss his plate into the trash before it attracted bugs or blew off in the breeze, but he just didn't have the heart to disturb the little girl who had latched on to him from the moment they'd met.

Johnna returned and looked down at her granddaughter with a shake of her head. Then she knelt and picked the sleeping child up without Tessa even stirring. As she shifted the girl into a more comfortable position she said, "We're about to give thanks. I hope you'll join us."

"Don't you generally do that _before_ diving into the food?" Hughes asked.

Johnna stood and cradled Tessa. "Normally, yes. But we all got a late start and the little ones don't exactly feel thankful when their tummies are growling. God can accept a compromise in this case."

"We'll be right there," Hughes said. With that, Johnna smiled, nodded and carried Tessa off.

Ed got to his feet, then went to give Hughes a hand up. He was far from thrilled at the prospect of being forced to listen to some religious bilge, but resigned himself to it. _Equivalent Exchange_, he thought. _They fed us; the least I can do is be polite_.

His cynicism must have been plain on his face, because Hughes scowled and said, "It's not going to kill you, Ed."

The younger man felt some of the tension in his body ease and he nodded. With that, Hughes threw his arm around Ed's shoulder and they strolled to the rest of the group.

When they reached the circle of people around the table, Ed put himself to the right of Hughes and far enough away to keep from jostling the man's injured shoulder. He gazed around at the different faces, pale and dark and shades in between. He hadn't really noticed until then the variety of races within Johnna's family. There were genetic markers every stripe--even the boy who took the spot on Ed's other side showed traces of Xingese heritage.

However, the one person that Ed was most concerned about --the one who had taken it upon herself to protect him and rally the others to help-- was not among the large gathering. He scanned the circle again, thinking he missed her, but he saw no sign of Reilly.

Worry lanced through him, and he was just about to leave to find her, when the Preacher cleared his throat loud enough to be heard over the murmuring group.

"Let's all join hands," Henry said.

Ed suddenly felt an instant of panic, and snapped around when he felt a tug at his right shoulder. Now was not the time to have to explain the automail to an overly curious adolescent. Instead, he met sad hazel eyes and looked down to see that Reilly had rescued him once again by taking his right hand. He gave her a gentle squeeze in silent thanks and some of that sadness left her face.

Henry cleared his throat again and even louder to get the remainder of his brood to settle down and they finally went quiet. "Bow your heads, everyone." The atmosphere went taut with anticipation and even the sounds of children playing and people milling about the park seemed to develop a distant quality to it, as though a canopy of privacy had settled about the circle. The pastor threw his head back, and began in an overly-dramatic tone, "Gracious Lord, who saved us from our sins and delivered us from fire and brimstone--"

One of the teenagers right next to Henry made a gagging sound. "Aw, c'mon, Dad! Save the sermon for Sunday!"

Making a good-natured face at his fosterling, Henry sighed and looked around. "Well, if you insist. We'll do a round-robin, then." He looked straight at Ed and his friends, then smiled. "Just tell us what you're thankful for, folks. Can be anything, we ain't particular."

The boy next to Henry started it off, with good health, and around the circle it went. Some said they were grateful for friends, others said family. There were cries of "Awesome food!" and laughing "Video games!" Heist let out thanks for caffeine when it was her turn, and Ed was surprised at the casual nature of appreciation in this family; it was as if they took nothing for granted.

When his turn came, Ed thought a moment. "I'm... not from around here," he started softly. "When I arrived, I didn't know anyone and everything seemed so strange. But someone took me in, and she accepted me without question." He looked around at Tom and Ducky, then settled on Reilly. "She's helped me in ways I... I can't even count. Even when I'm acting like an idiot, she seems to take it mostly in stride, and she doesn't ask for anything in return." He smiled a little. "There are a lot of things I'm grateful for right now. I'll be reunited with my brother tonight." He glanced over at Hughes. "I've found an old friend I thought I would never see again." Then he looked around the circle again and spotted Tessa. He smiled at her, which elicited a short burst of giggles and caused her to clamp her hand over her mouth to smother them. "Made some new ones." He nodded at Johnna. "And realized that family really _isn't_ defined by blood." He looked down, took a deep breath, then said, "That's what I'm really thankful for. As puzzling as they can be. Sometimes aggravating. But they're willing to put up with me, so I guess that makes them family." He rolled his eyes nervously to his right, then his head shot up the rest of the way when he saw tears stream down Reilly's face. He was certain he'd screwed up again, even if he didn't know what he'd done this time, and was about to apologize when she smiled warmly.

The moment was broken when one of the men in the group chuckled and said, "Man, he's as long-winded as you are, Dad."

"Hey, a little respect for your elders there, boy," Henry teased and everyone else joined in the good humor.

Hughes chortled softly and said, "You have no idea."

Ed shot him a look of mock offense. "Gee, thanks, Hughes."

The giving of thanks continued around the rest of the circle, but Ed hardly heard a word of it. He felt the tension he hadn't realized was in his shoulders ease, and while he didn't fool himself into thinking that everything was all right, he was able to console himself with the knowledge that Reilly had at least forgiven him for his earlier stupidity, and she didn't blame him for the horrors of the night before.

0o0o0

Ed buckled himself in at the back of the Ninjavan as the whole crew settled in. They'd all agreed that it would be better to go to the hospital in one vehicle, rather than two, so earlier, Reilly had moved the Hummer to a place less likely to attract the wrong kind of attention and would be fairly easy to get back to afterwards.

Hughes sunk into the seat next to him with a pained groan, and then proceeded to get into a one-handed wrestling match with the seat belt. Without a word, Ed leaned over and snapped the buckle into place.

"Thanks."

Ed stared contemplatively at the lightweight cooler between the older man's feet. Before they'd left, Johnna had managed to pack up as much of the leftovers as she could, filling the cooler nearly to bursting, and there was still a ton of food that she complained was going to go to waste.

"Nice family," Hughes said. "And it's kind of comforting to know that people here aren't that much different than anywhere else."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Tuckandroll, can we hit a Starbucks on the way? I need a transfusion," Heist said as she bounced into one of the middle seats.

"Sure," Ducky said as he snapped his seatbelt into place. "Goddess forbid we let actual blood infiltrate your caffeine system."

Reilly yawned hugely from the seat next to Heist. "I think we could all use a little boost." She yawned again. "Gods, what is it about a big meal that makes you want to go to sleep after?"

"It's the tryptophan in all that smoked turkey you were putting away," Tom said. "And all that pasta and cheese."

"Thank you, Cliff Claven," Ducky said as he shoved the key into the ignition and started the van.

"Just shut up and put it in gear, Ducks."

"Well," Hughes amended with a chuckle, "most of them, anyway."

"I heard that," Reilly said.

"You gotta admit, some of the things you people consider insulting are pretty weird," Ed said.

Reilly twisted in her seat and arched a brow at him. "Oh, please, Ed. Calling someone a wanker has got to be rude no matter where you're from."

Ed shrugged, but didn't look the least bit contrite. "I was talking about that moronic midget calling me a bundle of sticks. How is that an insult?"

Reilly just made a confused noise, and everyone else looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Hughes coughed nervously and asked, "Ed, did he call you a bundle of sticks? Or did he call you a faggot?"

"Same thing."

Hughes rubbed at the back of his neck and looked as though he was about to be forced to swallow something bitter. Ducky exploded with a short cackle, Tom groaned and mumbled and Heist just looked lost.

Hughes glanced up as a spectacular battle of emotions laid seige to Reilly's face. "A little help here?"

She just shook her head with a snicker, turned in her seat and sunk as low as she could. "You're on your own, Hughes."

"I'll remember that," he grumbled, then faced Ed. "Well, see... it's like this..."

0o0o0

Johnna sighed happily as the last of the picnic had been packed away and hauled off. She really had no intention of dragging that odd little family into their party. But when she saw the look in Ed's eyes, she saw a hunger there that wouldn't be satisfied with just food. There was a palpable tension and overwhelming grief that had blanketed the entire group, and if they didn't have a pressure valve they were all going to explode.

She never pressed for details --it wasn't her place-- but she did pick up enough to know that they had lost a friend in a violent accident, and that Reilly had lost her home the night before. And no one had to tell her that what ever was going on right now with their lives was far from over. Inviting them to join her family may not have been much, but sometimes the little things made the biggest difference.

She felt a familiar and comforting arm snake around her waist as she watched the black van start up, then Henry kissed her lightly on the temple. "You never could resist a stray, Dear Heart," he said.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Henry hugged her closer. "I learned a long time ago that it was a waste of energy to try and talk you out of doing anything you set your mind to. Besides, I trust your judgment." He chortled and shook his head. "Although, that short one? You can tell he has a temper."

"Perhaps, but he has a big heart. Did you see how Tessa latched onto him?"

"She's got your talent for reading people. Uh-oh. What's this?"

Johnna perked up as the black van suddenly rocked violently, and then a shouted epithet burst from inside.

"LET ME GO! I'M GONNA TRANSMUTE THAT PINT-SIZED PINHEAD INTO A--" The rest of the diatribe was lost in a screech of tires as the van took off.


	24. Ch 22a Warning: Contents Under Pressure

"**Warning: Contents Under Pressure"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Two, Part 1**

**Balance of Power**

This is Part One.

**June 3, 2006 – 9:37 p.m.**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Sidney pulled a dark, older-model compact around the last cordon of bright orange cones and down the ramp to the next level, smirking at his handiwork. It was petty of him to mess with the composition of the supports the construction workers kept erecting to fix the damage he'd done to the parking garage, but he would keep it up as long as the hospital continued to withhold information from him.

The hospital system for this whole state would feel his wrath, he promised himself, as soon as he'd finished with the Elrics. And Hughes. Sidney's grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He had wasted three hours pacing the emergency waiting room floor just to have some candy striper nit-wit earnestly inform him that no-such-person-had-been-admitted-sir. By the time she'd favored him with that response, he'd lost his chance to interrogate the accomplices from the café: "Gretchen" had been discharged and the kid with the fangs had disappeared as completely as if he'd been a real vampire. Sidney had been left to watch the sun rise through a fingerprint-spotted window, holding a styrofoam cup filled with something that only vaguely resembled tea.

He had barely refrained from throwing the piss-colored liquid into the face of the simpering drone at the information desk before stalking out of the hospital, relishing the way staff and patients scattered before him. His brain had seethed with plans for revenge as he'd tossed and turned on his squeaking motel mattress -- alchemical ambuscades and grotesque deathtraps for Maes Hughes, the Fullmetal Bastard and his mealy-mouthed brother. He had dreamed of Hughes, especially, paying in blood and lymph for every frustrating, stultifying second of the previous night, screaming until their throats gave out.

He had awakened refreshed, reviewing his fantasies over a half-decent mug of Earl Grey from the nearest Starbucks before reluctantly dismissing them. Plans made in anger weren't true plans -- merely inspirations. He was the Stealthworks Alchemist: his reputation had been built on discipline, calculation and discretion. He'd have all the time in the world to neutralize his enemies once they were properly confined in Amestris. But first he needed to find Fullmetal and persuade him to open a Gate, which even the gentlest of the previous night's torments would have rendered him incapable of doing. Revenge, like a good cup of tea, was best if left to steep a while.

As he'd laid his plans for the next few days, however, Sidney had paused occasionally to consider the future, a brighter future than he'd never dared contemplate since arriving in this oubliette of a universe. Hughes's wife and daughter still lived, surely; what a lovely riot of reactions he could coax from them.

Sidney shook himself free of he distracting images, but a smile lingered on his lips as he returned to the business at hand. _Such a tearful reunion shouldn't be delayed, should it? Time to move._

-----------------

_Twenty-one hundred thirty-seven hours._

Ray had been at work for an hour and a half already, and aside from a quick voicemail before coming in ("_No cape explosions; the operation is a go_!"), he had absolutely no idea what his part in this insane scheme was.

"This has to be one of the craziest extraction missions that I've ever had the displeasure of participating in," he muttered to the empty breakroom.

"That would make two of us, Ray."

He looked up to see Heather standing next to him -- _where'd she come from?_ -- and mentally flipped himself the bird. _Great SA, Purdue; when Fed-Boy comes tap-dancing down the hall to invite Tiger to join the Rockettes, you'll be all over it._ "You've never been on an extraction mission, Heather," he said grumpily. "Not unless you're lying about what you've been doing the past five years." Taking a sip of his coffee, he flipped his phone open and watched the military time stare back at him. "Twenty-three minutes until operation, and I still don't know my orders." He slapped the phone closed again, the small device nearly disappearing within his large hand, and shoved a chair toward Heather with his left foot.

"Is that why you haven't gone down to be with the boys?" Heather asked, taking the seat he'd offered and swiping his coffee. "They're playing cards in Tiger's room again."

"Good to know," Ray said, glumly watching her drink. If the only casualty of the night was his coffee, he'd drop to his knees and thank the good Lord for His mercies with all the fervor of a Pentecostal granny. "I'll join them once I get a call."

Heather smiled and handed his cup back after lowering the liquid by at least half an inch. "Well, don't wait too long. Tiger probably wants to say--"

Ray felt a vibration in his hand and lost interest in what Heather was saying as he glanced at the numbers popping up on the display. He held up a finger for her to wait, flipped the phone open and brought it up to his ear. "Purdue here."

_"I am the terror that flaps in the night! And I will be patiently waiting for that lovely package of mine to be delivered on the first floor, at the end of the eastern hallway, if it isn't too much trouble."_

_Eastern hallway. X-ray, then. "Can do, DW. Have a nice flight, okay?"_

_"Nice flight, nothing. I just hope I don't have to stare at Terminator's ass the whole way. Your line's being rewired; call for orderlies. Comrades H and H will be waiting."_

"Right."

_"Let's get __**dangerous**__."_

Ray closed the phone and pocketed it. He hoped Heather wouldn't notice the nervousness he was starting to feel, but he couldn't shake the suspicion that this was all going to blow up in their faces. _To hell with that: I will conquer my fears and succeed; I will not fail those with whom I serve._ "Time to move."

------------

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ducky announced, snapping his phone shut and tossing it over to Tom in the passenger seat, "Thunderbirds are go!" He ignored a warning growl from behind him and turned right into the drive that led to the hospital's parking garage. "Your captain requests that you please remain seated until the van has arrived at the gate, at which time --"

A tug on his headrest and a menacing whisper of "Ducky!" in his left ear interrupted this incipient monologue; he glanced in the rearview mirror to see Reilly settling back in her seat, giving him a Jedi-quality fisheye. _This isn't the parking garage I'm looking for -- oh, wait: yes, it is._ He braked the Ninjavan at the entrance, rolled down the window and snatched a ticket from the machine with the tips of his fingers. Tucking the slip of paper into his sunvisor, Ducky gently gunned the Ninjavan up the ramp, resisting the temptation to test the vehicle's cornering ability. _With the infamous Reilly luck, I'll probably get a chance to test it on the way out._

Ducky looked up at the mirror again and tried out a grim smile before letting it spread into a manic grin. _Me for Darkwing Duck, not Double-Oh-Seven._ Gravity didn't suit his expression any better than Ed's attempt to appear calm. Hughes did a pretty good imitation of insouciance as long as nothing was tweaking his shoulder; Tom could out-Zen Reilly any day of the week.

Only Heist, scribbling something into her PDA, seemed honestly relaxed, even excited. Ducky's fingers drummed on the steering wheel; he caught himself just before he hit the gas on the straightaway and leaned back with an effort. _Later. We need someone with a clear head on this jaunt. Or, at least, as clear as Heist's head gets._

The rattle and hum of construction announced the problem before it came into view. "You have _got_ to be kidding me," Ducky muttered, jerking the steering wheel none-too-gently to bring the Ninjavan around the last ramp and up to the roof. "Do _not_ be telling me they're still cleaning up this mess ... "

They were. Several floodlights positioned around the area conveniently illuminated a gaping hole in the floor with a larger perimeter cordoned off with garish yellow tape. A few men were wielding some pretty hefty-looking machinery and creating quite a ruckus, despite the late hour. Ducky had wondered about the structural integrity of the building, but the damage couldn't have been nearly as devastating as it appeared if they were still allowing people to park in the garage.

Ducky remembered some of the hospital staff talking about the explosion. Construction had already been underway by the time he'd started working but, from the looks of things, they hadn't made much progress. It seemed odd that the computers had been affected the way they were. It was more like an EM burst had taken them out or something, because where the explosion was located shouldn't have damaged the systems. _That should only happen if they had the main banks under the garage_, he thought. It was just one more bizarre, X-Filesesque tidbit that Ducky filed away to examine later.

He consulted his roughly sketched map of the parking garage, trying not to lean on the horn as he smoothed the flimsy paper over the steering wheel. "So much for getting in and out unnoticed," he said, and whipped the van around. "I'll take Plan B for a thousand, Alex."

Five minutes later, Ducky carefully backed the van into the only available parking spot he could find. Their location, about halfway between two different stairwell doors along the outer garage wall, was about as good as it was going to get. With a sigh of defeat, Ducky switched off the ignition. He and Ed were just going to have to lug all their gear along a different route to the service elevator... and pray they didn't get caught.

Tom unlocked the passenger seat and swiveled around. Shaking out another map and clearing his throat, he faced the rest of the van's occupants. "All right, people, listen up."

With an annoyed grunt, Ducky unlocked his own Captain's seat and spun far enough to throw his feet up on the doghouse console. "We've already gone over the plans a million times, Tom."

Heist and Ed both moved forward. Heist settled on the floor cross-legged, with a huge backpack, in front of Reilly. Ed knelt down between Reilly and Hughes and dropped his own heavy backpack between his feet. He looked ready to spring at any moment but was –amazingly—quiet.

"Then we'll go over them a million and one times, Ducks," Tom said. "Let's take it from the top. Heist?"

She unzipped her backpack and said, "Get in, get to the basement, hack into the security bus and tap the line to the Wall's phone so it'll reroute the call for an orderly to us. Gank some scrubs, do a little recon and Two-Step back here. Kid stuff."

Tom nodded, then glanced at Ducky. The hacker rolled his eyes and said, "At which point, I call the Wall's cell and tell him to set up a fake injury for Term Jr. Then Ed and I take the service elevator—Which reminds me… we're not coming in from the roof now. How much of a pain is it going to be to get to the elevator?"

Heist smirked a little at him. "I thought you'd gone over this a million times, Ducky. What gives?"

He opened his mouth to shoot a smart-mouthed comment back, but Tom held up his hands. "Enough. Heist?"

"The security schematic and the floor plan didn't indicate any difference in the route," Heist said. "But I'll look it all over as I head through."

"Gotcha. Anyway, Ed and I take the service elevator down, stop it between the first and second floor, climb out through the top and through the ducts to X-ray. Then we wait for H and H and Term Jr. Second verse, same as the first… in reverse." He paused and grinned at his rhyme. "Except we go all the way to the roof, skip down the fire escape, and tra-la-la across the street where we wait for Reilly and the rest of you to pick us up."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ducky saw Hughes gently rub his injured shoulder and wince ever so slightly before the man straightened his shoulders, any expression that he wasn't one hundred percent ready. When Tom's gaze fell on Hughes, he was the picture of a calm soldier.

"As soon as the Wall calls for an orderly, Heist and I head for the third floor to pick up Al for an escort to x-ray." Hughes scratched the back of his head and smiled down his partner. "We'll use a skeleton key to get through the secured door to the psych ward and present ourselves at the main desk."

Heist made a derisive noise. "'Skeleton key.' God, what an anachronism." She reached deep into her back back and shuffled its contents around; then, with a grunt and hard yank, she pulled out a small keypad with a magnetic-stripped card dangling from the top of it by a ribbon of colored wire. "Apologize to Sherlock, Hughes, or he won't help you."

Ed leaned forward and peered suspiciously at the electronic device. "What is that thing?"

"Magnetic code seeker," she said. "Just trust me when I tell you it'll open damn near anything requiring a card-key."

Hughes shook his head. "Sounds like a skeleton key to me."

Ed ignored him, training his bright gaze on Heist. "'Damn near'? Then it might not open the door?"

Heist shrugged and tucked Sherlock away again. "It's a hospital, Term. Not Fort Knox. It'll work."

"It better."

Ed's threat might as well have remained unspoken for all the notice Heist took of it. Ducky shook his head. He don't know her very well, do he? Picking locks and phreaking phones was elementary school stuff for her, as simple as tying her shoes. "We pick up your brother," she said, "whisk him down to x-ray, and wait for your arrival in graceful seclusion. Only one security camera to avoid and no traffic down there this time of night, unless the ER gets victims from a bus accident or something."

Everyone except Heist. . . twitched. Ducky inhaled, four different inane comments fighting for access to his tongue, but Tom got in first, asking calmly, "You still sure we shouldn't try to disable the cameras along your route?"

Heist shook her head. "The less we mess with security, the better. If I start mucking about with the alarms and surveillance it increases the chances of something going wrong."

Tom nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

Reilly shook her finger at Ducky and Ed. "Which means you two had better not attract any attention."

Ducky smirked. "We can always use Ed as a distraction if some rent-a-cop gets too nosy. You know they're all hard-up, and…" he dropped into his bad hick accent and lecherously waggled his brows at Reilly, "…the boy shore does have a purdy mouth."

He noticed a flicker out of the corner of his eye from Ed's direction and reached up to pluck the strange object flying at his head out of the air before it beaned him. Turning the object in his fingers, he realized it was a switch he'd misplaced about a month ago. "Hey! I've been looking for that! Thanks, Ed!"

He chose to interpret the younger man's growl as, 'You're welcome.'

Hughes chuckled, then said, "After we pass Al up to Ed and Ducky, Heist returns to the basement, removes the tap, and we just walk on out."

Ed shrugged, still glowering slightly in Ducky's direction. "Piece of cake."

Everyone but Hughes and Tom groaned loudly, and the blonde looked around in confusion. "What?"

"Remind me to sit you down and show you _Labyrinth_ after this is all over," Reilly said.

Ducky couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, you just jinxed us."

Ed rolled his eyes. "You people watch too many movies."

"_In the meantime_," Tom said with enough emphasis to kill Ducky's next smart-assed response before it had the chance to spill past his lips, "Reilly and I will hold down the fort here and monitor your activity." He reached down and pulled a bright pink plastic backpack from under his seat, unzipped it, and started passing out small walkie-talkies to everyone. "The lines will be left open and they're voice-activated. We'll all be able to hear each other." He favored Ducky with a hard-nosed stare. "_Everything_, Ducks. So keep the bad jokes to a minimum. We need to be able to hear the others, too."

"Well, hell. You mean I can't entertain all of you with my sparkling personality and bubbling wit?"

"Can you be serious for once?" Ed growled.

"What about the signal?" Heist asked as she grimaced down at the device in her hands as if someone had spit in them instead of handing her a two-way radio.

"Scrambled," Tom answered as he distributed a handful of small ear pieces to everyone but himself and Reilly. "We'll only hear each other, and no one else is going to hear us."

"So what's Plan B?" Hughes asked. "Just in case."

"Ed?" Reilly and the rest of the car scrutinized the two men.

Ed and Ducky eyeballed each other. Ducky sighed and fiddled with a strap on his bag while Ed impatiently recited, "If it goes to hell in a handbasket, we're supposed to get out of the hospital as soon as possible."

"And?"

"Make a break for the Ninjavan."

"Good."

Hughes looked from Reilly to Ed and back to Reilly. "How do you do that?"

She smiled sweetly, but didn't say a word. Heist's lips twitched; she shot Ducky a look from under half-lowered lids that managed to convey admiration for Reilly and amusement at him and Ed with remarkable economy. Ducky pursed his lips at her in a silent Bronx cheer. _C'mon, Heist, give us a little credit. We're not exactly hacking the electronic scoreboard for homecoming, here ..._

Except she didn't know that. Heist had no idea how much they'd paid to come this far. It had been left to him to tell her about Kitten and Spike, and he'd decided to wait. Ducky clasped his hands together and scratched his left thumb with his right. _She'll dive into a hole and pull the hole in after her, just like she always does. And I can't be in two places at once: we need her to handle security at the Wall's end._ Under the rasp of his nail, the skin of his thumb turned white, then red. _Once we're out of here, then there'll be time ..._

No matter how he excused it, though, he knew he was betraying a friendship that had sustained both of them since childhood. But he couldn't do a one-eighty now, not with the clock ticking down the final minutes to zero hour; he would keep cracking lame jokes and let Heist think this was another one of their excellent adventures. Whatever punishment she chose to dish out when it was all over -- even if she turned her back on him and walked away without a word -- he would take.

And that possibility, more than any obstacle they might encounter tonight, scared him shitless.

Heist pulled her hair back into a neat bun before popping a piece of gum in her mouth. "Don't worry, Term. If your brother's half as cute as you are, he'll be easy to spot and we'll have him out in no time." She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a massive purse and a dark wig, jamming Sherlock inside before zipping it closed. "This should only take fifteen in and out," she explained as she arranged the wig over her hair. "Don't call unless I'm late, no search and rescue, yadda yadda. Does my hair look okay?"

"You're good, H," Ducky assured her. "Don't get caught."

She stuck her tounge out at him before sliding the van door open. "I haven't yet, and that one time doesn't count. 'Sides, it's only recon. No biggie." She jumped out of the van and turned a beatific grin on Hughes. "You know the plan. Be ready to go when I get back." He nodded in response and her smile widened.

"See you in fifteen!" The door slid shut again and Ducky let his head roll back against the headrest. Then his gaze slipped over Tom and Hughes before landing on Ed. All three of them, he knew, had been forced to make the best of bad choices in the past. Compared to them, this should have been nothing - but he still wondered how they'd gotten through it.

He didn't notice it at first, being too caught up in his own thoughts, but he suddenly realized that Ed was watching him. The determination in those eyes answered Ducky's question. _You keep moving forward._

"Does she know what she's doing?" Ed asked.

Ducky shrugged. "Probably." He noticed Reilly watching him with an expression of disquiet and Ducky mouthed, "What?"

"_Did you tell her_?" she mouthed back.

He shrugged and focused his attention on pulling the duffel from underneath his seat. He could feel Reilly's gaze on the back of his neck and he ignored it, trying not to think of the inevitable confession he would have to make.

-------------

"_OW_!"

"HA, got it!"

Startled by Al's yelp, Ray opened the door and frowned at the two boys sitting on the bed. "And just what," he drawled, wondering if he really wanted to know, "are you two up to now?"

"Egyptian Rat Fuck," Gene said calmly, as if that explained everything, and gathered a pile of cards from the center of the bedspread to add them to his large collection. "Al kind of sucks at it."

"You didn't tell me you'd be smacking me while we played it!" Al protested. "And I forgot about the single jacks." He massaged his hand, then hunched into a posture that would have screamed to any card shark, _Bring it on, baby_! "Let's go again."

Thankful that Al seemed a bit calmer this time, Ray put a hand on the boy's head. "Hold on there, partner. I got the call from the Duckman."

Both boys froze in place, turning wide eyes toward Ray. "And?" Gene asked. "What's the word?"

Ray pulled up the one chair in the room and had a seat. "Okay, boys. Here's the plan..."

o0o0o0o

**June 3. 2006 -- 9:52 p.m.**

Ed's teeth ground together in barely suppressed agitation. Already his right shoulder was aching from the extra weight of his automail, and he yearned for another massage from Reilly. Annoyed, he clamped down on that thought and focused on the task ahead. Lifting his chin a little, he glared at the crouched form of Ducky just a few feet away. "I still say you should let me lead. I happen to have a little experience crawling through ducts. That and it would save me the view of your ass."

Ducky paused in mid-crawl to glance over his shoulder. He scanned Ed before smirking. "I'm sure you do... Considering your size..."

Ed's face flamed, but before he could launch into a well-practiced tirade a crackly voice broke over the receiver. _"Ed, shut up! Ducky, I told you- don't set him off, you asshole! We want to actually start this rescue attempt before alerting the hospital!"_

Ducky pouted his lip slightly, an expression Ed was certain he didn't realize he was making. Reilly had a gift for exotic language, and she plied it with artistic flourish when she was particularly angry. This was far more entertaining than TeeVee, and Ed leaned against the wall behind him to see how it played out.

Ducky swallowed with apparent nervousness. His grin seemed too tight as he shifted the coil of rope on his shoulder. "Sorry, darling! My accursed quick wit likes to take charge, and there's never a bad time for comedic relief!" It was a complete sham, Ed was sure. Apparently Reilly thought so too as she grated a response.

"_There is when the audience is armed, idiot."_

Ed started to grin at the dressing down Ducky was receiving when the voice suddenly turned on him. _"And Ed, you had better get your head out of your ass if you plan on reuniting with your little brother! So help me, I'll gut you myself if you give us away because you can't keep your temper!"_

In the silence that followed Reilly's irritated sign-off, Ed and Ducky simply rested for a moment, avoiding one another's eyes. Ed stared at the ceiling and found his breathing automatically falling into the rhythm of an old exercise, one of the first Izumi had taught him. She and Reilly were nothing alike, physically, but they had the same talent for cutting through bullshit. _Maybe all teachers have it?_ Ed knew exactly how important what he and Ducky were doing was to the overall plan, knew they needed to cooperate -- _No. I know I need his help. Dammit._ Ducky was native to this place and time; that gave him insights Ed couldn't duplicate and skills he couldn't match. In light of that, the clowning was a minor irritant (or at least a provocation to be answered later). _I'm here to rescue Al. I can put up with anything for that. _

Steadied by his reflections, Ed turned to Ducky. The other man was muttering darkly about voice-activated walkie-talkies as he spun a pair of smoke bombs on his left palm. Ed calmly reached out and closed his automail fingers around Ducky's wrist, then caught the bombs as they dropped from the hacker's startled grip. Ducky grimaced, but -- mindful, perhaps, of Ed's grasp on his arm -- said nothing. Cheered by this small victory, Ed stuffed the smoke bombs back into the duffel and zipped it closed. "Let's have a look at the map," he said.

Ducky smiled, rapping his head with his index finger. "No need; it's all right here!"

Ed unzipped his pack anyway and sorted through the various objects inside until he located the map. It was creased oddly; he'd been too impatient to refold it properly the last time he'd consulted it. Shaking out the pleats, he scanned the diagram. "Okay... it looks like the next intersection is about six yards up," he said as he traced their line of ductwork with a flesh finger. "Hughes has us making a left, then following it for about ten yards till it branches off to the right. We keep going straight for another twenty yards until we get to the first vent."

Ducky pulled the map a little closer, pointing at a cutout in the shaft they were currently crawling through. "What's this?"

Ed squinted. The map's major features were clear, but small details blurred into wavering squiggles and dots in the flashlight's low-wattage beam. "It almost looks like another shaft, but it's a lot smaller than the rest of the duct."

Ducky bent lower over the map, his own eyes narrowing in concentration and excitement. "We should check it out!"

Ed twitched the map out of his hands before Ducky could pinpoint the distraction's location. "We're not here to sightsee," he said evenly.

"But it could be a shortcut!" Ducky protested. "It might save us some time. The longer we're here, the more likely it is someone'll notice."

Ed forced himself to breathe slowly -- in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. _He's got no experience. I do. I just have to explain it to him in words of one syllable_. "We don't know where it goes, Ducky. It won't help us if we get lost in it."

Ducky tapped his fingers against the duffle. "You got a point there," he said finally.

Ed blinked, then nodded. He pushed the map back into his pack and began crawling forward, Ducky following behind him, docile. _Maybe this will work after all._ He wouldn't count on it, though; he'd been out in the field enough to know that nothing ever happened the way you planned it beforehand. And this plan had enough complexities and _trust-me-it'll-works_ in it to make him sweat if he thought about it too hard. It was a hell of a lot more complicated than anything he'd have invented on his own. Al had often chided him for the lack of forward planning in their escapades, but they'd never had time for it. _Well, almost never. Seven times out of ten ..._

Oh, screw it: Ed preferred to dive in headfirst and improvise.

_And you've got the scars to prove it_, a voice in his head that might have been his brother's reminded him.

--------------------

Al fidgeted in the wheelchair as Ray brought him to a stop by the nurse's station. The sling and icepack that were wrapped around and immobilized his not-really reinjured arm were irritating to the point of near pain and he rolled his shoulder to alleviate the discomfort. He started to get up so he could see clearly over the counter and through the locked door, but a large hand on his shoulder held him down. He twisted and glared up at Ray, then said, "I still don't understand why I have to sit in this thing. My legs are fine."

"Insurance purposes" was all the answer he got as Ray added a little more pressure to his shoulder.

There was no negotiating this, Al knew, but that didn't make it any easier. Where Ray had parked him blocked his view around the corner of the the station to the door, which meant Al couldn't see his brother coming down the corridor. His head just barely poked over the false horizon of white shelf, and he craned his neck in an effort to at least get an advance peek. It wasn't a two year separation this time, but it felt just as miserable because they were in the same world and divided by mere circumstance. Anticipation had grown over the past few weeks --ever since Ed had finally contacted him by email-- and only managed to make time drag slower. It was enough to try even Al's patience and he was beginning to feel like he was at the end of whatever reserves he had left. Of course, last night's crushing disappointment and the worry that followed to keep him awake all night didn't help matters.

At least Gene's diabolical card game had managed to pump a little adrenaline into him, because he could feel exhaustion creeping up on him again. He rubbed his knuckles and scowled as Gene rolled up next to him. "Remind me to start wearing gloves when I play cards with anyone from now on," Al said.

Gene just smirked at him.

"How you holding up there, Tiger?" Ray asked.

Al turned his attention to the nurse, who was watching him with an upraised eyebrow. "Fine. I'm looking forward to seeing Brother again."

Ray chuckled. "What's with the 'Brother' thing? Does he not like his name or something?"

"Huh?"

"You keep calling him 'Brother.' Why don't you use his real name?"

Al had never really thought of why he called his brother 'Brother' instead of Ed. "Well... he's my brother. And I don't want to forget it, I guess."

Gene piped up. "I like Ed better."

"Edward Elric, the... " Al trailed off, smiling and shaking his head slightly as he realized he was about to introduce Ed as a State Alchemist, something he hadn't been for a long time and a title that would hold no meaning for Ray or Gene. _Old habits die hard._

Ray's eyebrows were just about at his hairline and Gene prompted, "The. . .?"

"Never mind. It's not important anymore. Still, I can't wait for you guys to meet him!" Al started to bounce again.

"'Ed' and 'Al,' that's kind of cute." Ray smiled and ruffled Al's hair. "But unless the name 'Ed' starts with an 'h,' I don't think I'm gonna meet him tonight, kiddo."

Al stopped bouncing and felt disappointment settle in his stomach. "But. . . he said he was coming to get me! Where - ?"

"Whoa there, Tiger!" Ray put his hands on Al's shoulders. "Settle down. He's coming, but he can't be the one to meet you here tonight. The Duckman said that 'H and H' would be here first."

"H and H? Who's that?" Al asked, his nose creasing in concentration.

Ray shook his head. "You're asking the wrong man. Think, Al. Who do you know that your bro would trust you with, whose name begins with an 'h?'"

Time seemed to stop for a moment as the pieces fell into place. "Hughes," Al breathed.

This wasn't an off-hand comment in an email; black and white text that carried all the impact of discussing the weather. This was reality. He's here. Not a homunculus masquerading as Hughes and not a doppleganger either, but the real thing. Al felt the blood drain from his face and was suddenly grateful that Ray had insisted on the wheelchair, because he didn't think he could stand now if he tried.

Gene looked worried and nudged Al. "You okay, man? You look like a ghost."

"Or like he saw one." Ray gave the lightest of squeezes from his huge hands on Al's shoulders. "What's so scary about this Hughes guy, Tiger?"

Al swallowed and looked at them both before shrugging Ray's hands away. "He was dead."

-------------

Maes felt surprisingly nervous when they finally reached the locked doors of the psych ward.

It had been a quiet trek to the psychiatric wing of the hospital; neither he nor Heist wanted to risk anything seeming out of the ordinary, so they'd stayed relatively quiet on the walk. The silence had given his guts the chance to twirl into a very tight Gordian knot.

"Calm down, cowboy," Heist murmured as she swung open the final door with ease after her little 'Sherlock' had unlocked it. "Let's go get the booty before someone realizes we're pirates."

Maes blinked at the pirate reference, but followed her inside, green eyes looking all around for any sign of Al. He looked for silver metal, a purple loincloth… maybe the hair-decoration coming from his helmet. But the memory that Al was in the flesh – _he's real now, he's alive_ – kicked him in the gut and almost made him nauseated all over again.

He spotted a large nurse and a boy in a wheelchair by the nurse's desk and started to head over, a small tuft of dark blonde hair peeking out from behind the desk. But he stopped short as the boy behind the help desk finally came into his line of sight, and he swore his heart skidded to a halt for several moments.

Gone was the hulking armor that was all he remembered of Al. In its place sat a scrawny young man with a quivery smile on his face and a subtle but unmistakable resemblance to Edward Elric.

_He's so damned small_, Maes found himself thinking as he stared at the boy, tears coming to his eyes. _He looks like he'd break if I breathed on him hard enough._ The tears settled on the edge of his eyelids, giving his sight a bit of a dazzled quality as he beamed at Al.

The large nurse beside Al was saying something, but Al's eyes never left Maes'. "These two are going to take you up to get your arm looked at, kiddo. Behave for them, okay?"

Maes had to restrain the urge to go over and give Al an Armstrong-worthy hug as the kid pulled his gaze away long enough to look at his large nurse and gave him a solemn salute. It was Ed's salute, though it had the respect and gratitude that Fullmetal's sloppy gestures had never contained. Maes had to stifle a laugh when the kid sitting next to Al made a face, and Al just punched him with a giggle. _Still throws a better punch than Ed, too._

Heist started walking towards the handles of Al's wheelchair, but even with his shoulder in so much pain, Maes just couldn't let her do it. He had to feel Al. Had to make sure he wasn't seeing a ghost still, the way Al had seen him for so long. "I've got him," he said, his voice thick with the emotion of the moment.

He grabbed Al's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze before he began pushing the boy away, and he finally felt sure of himself again. As they walked towards the door, he leaned over to whisper into Al's ear.

"I am so glad to see you alive and whole, Al." He straightened up and swallowed to clear his throat, then smiled as Al looked up at him. "C'mon. Let's get you back to where you belong."

The salute he got in return made even the pain in his shoulder melt away.

o0o0o0o

Gene had never felt so alone as when the first person who had ever actually given a shit about him was taken away by people he had never met. A block of ice collected in the pit of his stomach, and he felt like he wanted to cry. Even if tough guys like him didn't cry. He wanted to.

_And there goes my only friend. Taking off for some awesome adventure with his brother, while I get left behind by everyone. Again._ And then he thought back to his e-mail, where he and Al had first bonded. And felt at least a little better.

But as Gene watched his best friend be wheeled away by the two 'orderlies', something triggered a thought in his mind, and he dug around in his pocket. "Uh, Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"If these guys are so intent on getting out without being caught, then why didn't they disable the alarms?"

"I'm sure they took that into account, Gene."

The boy pointed up at a small red box nestled near the ceiling with a pin-point of red light staring steadily back at them. "Guess again. That light says the alarm's still active."

Gene almost laughed as Ray opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and closed it, only to open it again with the words "How the hell do you know this shit?"

Gene smiled, and pulled out two slender little devices: his jumpdrives. "It's what I do, Ray. Get me to a computer."


	25. Ch 22b Warning: Contents Under Pressure

"**Warning: Contents Under Pressure"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Two, Part 2**

**Balance of Power**

This is Part Two.

**June 3, 2006 – 9:52 p.m.**

**Wichita, Kansas**

Steering the car down the next level, Sidney considered his next victim: Edward Elric, Hero of the People, Mustang's darling prodigy, long overdue for his comeuppance. His final moments, unfortunately, weren't quite as satisfying to imagine as Hughes'. They lacked clarity; Sidney hadn't seen Fullmetal since the brat was fifteen and nor could he decide which approach would be most effective. Given the reputed strength of the bond between the Elric brothers, having the elder witness the younger's extermination seemed such an appropriate choice -- but what if he tortured them separately, permitting them occasional brief glimpses of one another? Young men had such vivid imaginations; a subtle suggestion could conjure horrors in impressionable minds greater than anything he could inflict. Almost. They might even teach him a new trick or two...

Sidney sighed as he felt the familiar electric tingle of inspiration in his palms. Oh, yes. Yes, this would work beautifully. No one could say that James Sidney Bond didn't feel a modicum of compassion or empathy. He was a reasonable man; he understood the value of options. He was perfectly willing to offer the Fullmetal Bastard an ultimatum: _your brother dies by your hand or mine._ Chuckling, Sidney sped a little faster down the ramp. _Such an exquisite fork. What will you choose, Edward Elric? No, don't tell me... let it be a surprise..._

Sidney continued to ponder the fate of the Elrics as he made his way down to the first level of the parking garage and turned the car around to go back up, the magical parking spot still eluding him. There was a blocky, older black van with it's lights on; perhaps they were ready to leave and would be so kind as to relinquish their spot. He slowed, peering at the passengers to get an indication of what they were going to do, when he suddenly recognized the back view of a very curly head of hair.

Sidney stepped on the break quickly, bringing the car to an abrupt halt. He felt his head snap back against the seat, and cursed at his lack of self control, counting himself lucky that the tires hadn't squealed in protest. _There she is._

His head didn't move an inch to the side, but his eyes kept their focus on the van and the two figures inside it through the rear view mirror. He slowed to a stop at the corner of the row, looked both ways down either side of the intersection, and turned right. The van disappeared from view, but Sidney smiled as he continued along. He had located a target and a convenient open parking space by the elevator was calling his name.

Pulling the car into the spot, he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. This was it, there was no turning back now. He was dealing with amateurs, one lone Investigations officer, and the Elrics. It was unfortunate that Hughes and Elric had found allies; this whole process could have been so much cleaner. Neither body count nor blood bothered him, but the paperwork required to cover it up really was atrocious.

He checked his watch and felt his pockets for his gun, badge, and phone. The proliferation of wireless devices still astounded him. As annoying as they could be, he still appreciated the cell phone's convenience. Sidney had set it on vibrate earlier; there was no sense in getting complacent and ruining a job by an astonishingly loud ring giving him away. He grabbed a couple of permanent markers out of the cup holder next to his empty tea cup and quietly opened the door. They were more reliable than pencil, less messy than chalk, and faster than etching, a veritable array-making dream. The idea was so simple and practical that Sidney swore he would kill the head of Research and Development if they hadn't invented the self-contained inkwell pen by the time he returned to Amestris. But if they hadn't, he had amassed quite a collection from work.

It was one of those "disabled parking only, violators will be fined" spots, not that Sidney cared. Scanning the area, he uncapped a marker. With an amused flourish, he sketched a simple array on the back of the sign. Taking another quick glance around the garage -- it really wouldn't do for an alchemist of his caliber to become sloppy -- he touched the sign with open palms. As the familiar blue light glowed around the edges, he sighed.

There. Now he wasn't illegally parked. The new "Authorized Personnel Only" sign matched an official-looking, completely worthless tag on his dashboard. Visitors returning to their vehicles wouldn't get suspicious and he doubted security would take a second look if they patrolled the area.

He skirted the perimeter, making his way towards the van between the outer wall and closest row of parked cars. He paused at an especially old, decrepit-looking vehicle with a heavy frame, in dire need of either a paint job or a high pressured wash. A valid hospital staff decal flopped over, half peeled off of the rear windshield and the rear passenger window was covered with tape and plastic. Sidney opened the trunk in less than a minute. It was just as shabby as the rest of the car. Where rust hadn't begun to eat through, there was a thick layer of grime covering the otherwise barren floor.

It was perfect.

Whether underpaid or miserly, the owner wouldn't miss the floor of his trunk for at least a week, Sidney estimated. By that time, he planned to be just a memory in this world, perhaps taking four years worth of leave to enjoy a decent cuppa from his private stock of Ishballan goods. After Hughes and the Elrics were cold in their graves, of course...or after their ashes were scattered across the country, depending on how he decided to dispose of their bodies. Either way, they would be dead, Sidney would be home, and this poor excuse for a vehicle would have given its trunk up for the greater good.

Sidney maneuvered a few cars over until he could see the black van that still housed his two targets, who definitely weren't visiting anyone at the hospital. He smirked at the back of the van and returned to his chosen material. Stooping in a low crouch, Sidney lowered the trunk lid with his left hand until it rested on his right upper arm. He slapped the trunk floor with his right palm, his watch face hitting the metal with a light clunk.

The lid shielded most of the light, the construction work covered most of the noise, and within moments, Sidney felt the familiar thrill as one of his favorite alchemic reactions began to take place. The solid metal floor re-formed under his hand and he slowly curled his fingers around the shifting mass, careful not to break contact completely.

It was over too soon, and Sidney cracked open the trunk just enough to extract his arm and newly formed spider. He gave the machine a once-over, admiring his work. Satisfied, he tucked his creation under one arm and continued to creep between the wall and the cars. Once he was three rows closer he cut across the parking lot, never once looking at the van, and made a direct line to the far entrance on the opposite wall. As soon as he passed the last pillar in the van's line of sight, he turned towards it again.

--------------

A digital chirp sounded from somewhere in one of the bags stuffed under the back seat. Reilly traced the noise to a cell phone jammed into the front of a backpack.

"It's mine, Reilly," Tom called over his shoulder. "Who is it?"

"Uh... caller ID says Amber. Amber Branch? Why is she calling -- did you ask her for something?"

Tom rolled his eyes and held his hand out for the phone. "Believe it or not, Reilly, I don't always talk to Amber when I need her help," he said dryly. "And no, I didn't ask her for anything." He pondered the situation further as Reilly she made her way to the front to pass him the phone. "Then again... she usually doesn't call directly unless she is getting back to me with information." Feeling more puzzled than he had all day, an impressive feat on its own, Tom answered with a crisp "Hello?"

The greeting was no sooner out of his mouth when their walkie-talkie transmitted a burst of static and the tinny echo of Ducky's voice enclosed in the air duct. Tom's brows furrowed as he concentrated on keeping the two lines of communication separate. Understanding his plight, Reilly snatched up the walkie-talkie and silently gestured that she would take care of coordinating the rescue. Tom nodded and stepped out of the van, trading the two-way radio talk for the more easily ignorable rumble of construction noise. The door wasn't even closed before Reilly had bounced into the driver's seat and taken command, giving Tom the reassurance he needed to focus his attention on Amber.

_"--sorry to be calling so late; you're probably busy. You know what? I'll just call back in the morning."_

"Amber, wait. It's fine. Is something wrong?"

Tom turned up the volume as the construction crew started their next round of work. He caught the tail end of a sigh as Amber continued, _"No, nothing is wrong. At least I don't think so, not yet."_ She sighed again, and Tom picked up on some underlying tension, something Amber was usually a master at concealing. _"I've been researching all day, Alden's been gone all evening on call, and I guess I just needed to talk to someone who wouldn't think I'm crazy."_

Tom's eyes ran the length of the Ninjavan, his gaze settling on Reilly yelling into the walkie-talkie, her free hand waving in frustration. She caught his look and shooed him away. "Amber," he said, "right now you are the last person I'd accuse of being crazy."

_"Save your judgment until after you hear everything," Amber muttered. "I talked to Llyn this morning."_

"A normal activity between family members..."

_"__**He**__ called __**me**__. Tom, he's on his ER rotation. I have a hard time getting hold of the kid just to make sure he's still alive -- oh, God, I shouldn't have used that comparison."_

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong, Amber?"

_"Llyn saw a cursed man."_

The din of the construction work faded out. His breathing quickened and Tom could suddenly feel his heartbeat pumping blood through every vein. He thought back to the first time he had met the boy, the clever, scarred Welsh teenager that Amber's new beau had been taking care of since he was young. And remembering hearing the reason behind that arrangement almost two years later, after Amber had sent Llyn into another room to play with the then-newborn Lucy. Finding out that Llyn's living situation had been caused by a cursed man blowing his family to shreds.

_"He said he saw a cursed man at the hospital, and he was looking for a patient,"_ Amber paused and Tom heard a faint complaint in the background. _"Lucy just woke up. Can you hold on a sec, Tom?"_

"Not really," he exhaled, but she had already put the phone down. He glanced up to shoot a silent apology to Reilly and caught the frustrated carding of her fingers through her hair. Only Ed and Ducky could make her react like that, Tom knew, and strode back to the van.

He leaned in the open passenger door and caught Reilly's attention, but before he could say anything, Amber was back on the line.

_"Sorry about that, Tom,"_ Amber's voice returned. _"Are you still there?"_

"Yeah, I'm here, Amber." Tom raked a hand over the top of his head and grimaced, "Reilly is, too."

_"Oh, okay... I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"_

"Actually, we--"

_"Ducky to base, we have reached our objective. Commencing operation Duckstorm!"_

"Ducky, hold on," Reilly spoke into the walkie-talkie, her eyes never leaving Tom's, "we aren't ready for you yet- give us about five minutes..."

Ducky's voice sounded again, and Reilly turned the volume down slightly. "If we screw this up it won't matter how surprising your attack is!" she hissed into the receiver. "Just wait for my signal!"

_"What are you guys up to?"_

Tom sighed. "Do you really--"

_"You know what? I don't want to know."_

"It's for the best, Amber."

_"Right,"_ she agreed before quickly resuming where she had left off when Lucy had interrupted. _"So this cursed man showed up at Llyn's hospital. The way he described him made me think of some things going on at work, but nothing's adding up."_

Reilly was understandably irritated at Ed and Ducky --especially Ducky-- but it sounded like it was under control otherwise. Tom decided she could handle it, and wandered back away from the van with the phone pressed tight to one ear and a finger jammed into the other. "I'm listening Amber. Go on."

_"Actually, hold on just a sec again. I wanna make sure Lucy's in bed."_

A sharp rap on the van's window brought Tom's attention back to the parking garage. Amber leaving to check on her daughter less than three minutes after putting her to bed was worrying. The woman was not prone to extreme overprotectiveness; it was just another sign of how agitated she really was.

Reilly was motioning for him, her frustration replaced with a much more frantic look of concern. Tom returned to the passenger's seat and noted that she had the walkie-talkie fisted so tight her knuckles were turning white.

_Everyone's twitchier than usual tonight_, Tom thought. _And that can mean mistakes._

"I don't know what they're doing, but it's doesn't sound like what we planned," she all but yelled over the jumbled updates coming from the walkie-talkie. Tom could pick out both Ducky and Heist's voices; they must have been trying to talk at the same time. He flipped his cell phone to the speaker function and dropped it on the van's center console so he'd hear Amber when she came back. Then he relieved Reilly of the walkie-talkie, and the dueling voices almost instantly died down.

"Of course they stop talking as soon as you come back," Reilly grumbled, but less frantic. "What else is new?"

Tom just smiled and started to call for Heist.

----------------

Just ahead, Ed could make out the edge of metal that indicated a break in the wall. "Here's the first turn." The direction was unnecessary, but it felt good to hear a voice, even if it was his own. Actually, considering the company, he would prefer to hear his own voice.

Ducky followed in odd silence; the only sound was the muffled thud of his jean-covered knees hitting the floor of the shaft. Distantly, Ed heard a very faint clunk, and a rush of cooled air kicked on, raising the hairs on his left arm. It had a slightly stale, antiseptic smell that reminded him a little of the automail shop. The only scents missing were oil, grease, and Winry's hair. He snapped back to the present when he felt Ducky bump into him from behind.

"Hey, what's the dealio?"

Ed shook his head roughly. "It's nothing. Come on- we should keep moving."

Behind Ed, Ducky coughed, breaking the short span of blissful silence that hadn't been filled with his voice. "Damn, it stinks like decomposing clowns in here."

Having grown used to Ducky's strange euphemisms, Ed raised his brow slightly, but kept his query back for the sake of continued peace.

Peace, however, was a lost cause. Ducky had broken the dam with his first sentence and the words flowed in torrents. "Now I know what a TV dinner feels like. Seriously, I never thought I'd ever pull a John McClane myself, though I have been compared to Bruce Willis on more than one occasion. It must be my rugged good looks. Hey, do you think T-Jr. is into action flicks? Dude, he would totally get a kick out of Lethal Weapon! Or is he more of a thinker, yeah, he probably isn't exactly like you. He'd probably want to watch Mystic River or Ghostbusters. Or, oh wait, I guess Ghostbusters isn't really a thinking movie though, huh? But he is a kid; he might like the special effects--"

Ed's eye twitched at the rambling monologue, but with heroic fortitude, he managed to strangle back his desire to scream.

"Ducky..." He hissed warningly.

"Hey, there's the vent!" Ducky eagerly fumbled past Ed, shoving a knee into Ed's stomach in his haste, before sitting proudly in front of the slotted panel on the floor of the shaft.

Breathing slowly and cradling his abused middle, Ed's teeth clenched so tight his jaw cracked. Curling a fist, he waved his arm around, desperately wanting to punch anything, but knowing he couldn't risk the noise. With a muffled scream, he abruptly pushed the hair out of his eyes, leaving behind a streak of grime. It was only with the desire to maintain silence that Ed resisted the urge to snatch Ducky bald. "Hey, I wasn't through with you yet you bastar-- what are you doing?"

Ducky had opened his duffel and was fiddling with several small, covered tins. "The Almighty tells me he can get me out of this mess, but he's pretty sure you're fucked."

Ed's jaw dropped. "W-What?" By this time, Ducky had opened the tins and begun spreading the contents on his face. "What the hell is that crap?"

Ducky's eyes had taken on an unnatural glint, one Ed didn't feel entirely comfortable with. As he smeared more of the pigment on his skin, he suddenly grinned. "Hand me my weapon!"

Ed gaped for a second, too keyed up now to deal with the mercurial moods Ducky seemed to flow through. It may have been cute when they were safely at the house -who was he kidding, Ed would never think of Ducky as 'cute'- but with Al's life depending on them, Ed felt as close to panic as he'd ever been. Snatching the duffle away from Ducky, he grabbed the young hacker by the collar and pushed him against the wall, causing it to buckle with a watery crumple of sheet metal. With steadily inflected tones, he spelled it out as clearly as he was able without spilling blood. "We're here to save Al, stupid, not take on the hospital guards! Now if you can't get your head out of your ass I'm going to seal you up in this vent, slap some tape over your mouth, and go in alone. You got it?"

There must have been something in Ed's intense gaze, because Ducky blinked quickly, then nodded without smiling.

Releasing him, Ed knelt by the vent opening, trying to peer through the slats. Minimal light filled his vision, indicating the room was likely unoccupied. Flattening his lips, Ed sat up again and nodded to Ducky's walkie-talkie. "Are we ready?"

Ducky fished around for a second until he found a handful of large smoke bombs. Grinning widely, he raised his voice, speaking clearly. "Ducky to base, we have reached our objective. Commencing operation Duckstorm!"

Reilly's voice sounded slightly distracted as she responded. _"Ducky, hold on, we aren't ready for you yet- give us about five minutes..."_

Ducky wiped a film of sweat from his forehead, smudging the blue face paint. "What's happening? We only have about ten more minutes before the guards change shift! If I don't drop these soon we'll lose the surprise attack!"

The voice on the other end sounded keyed up and tense. Something was definitely going on, but she wasn't sharing. _"If we screw this up it won't matter how surprising your attack is! Just wait for my signal!"_

Agitated, Ducky set the smoke bombs down on the floor of the shaft. Picking up one of the tins again, he held it out to Ed. "Ready for some war paint?"

Ed jerked back in alarm. "Are you out of your mind?!"

Shrugging indifferently, Ducky retrieved a small mirror on the end of a long rod and proceeded to repair the smudges to his makeup.

Ed only shook his head, barely suppressing the absolute NEED for activity. He almost felt like he was vibrating! Al was so close, and still, he was being asked to wait... and wait... and _wait_... he was going to explode. Desperate for any sort of distraction, he regarded Ducky's half painted face. "What the hell is that crap for anyhow? It's not like we're breaking into a dark room."

Ducky adopted a stern look. "We go to avenge our father's fathers! Prepare ye'self, for we fall upon them from above, the strength of all Scotland at our backs!" As he spoke, his words deepened, and he affected an accent that sounded vaguely Caledonian.

To Ed's discomfort, Ducky was also advancing on him, a savage look twisting his face into a scowl. Back pressed into the wall behind him, Ed had a moment to reflect on how much he would rather be facing a giant, rolling boulder about now.

A second passed, and Ducky's lower lip trembled slightly. Another moment passed and his cheek twitched. Just as Ed was preparing to belt him, Ducky's scowl melted into laughter as he gave in to his inner psychotic.

Glaring furiously, Ed crossed his arms in frustration. "You really are an idiot."

Ducky picked up the bombs again, spinning them in one hand as he shoved the scattered tins back into the duffel. "You know you love me. Come on, say it just once!"

Ed ground his teeth. "The only thing I'd love is the chance to kick in your teeth."

Unexpectedly the walkie-talkie suddenly crackled to life. _"Okay guys, get ready. Hopefully Murphy will give us a break and this will go off without a hitch."_

Ed felt a sudden tightening in his belly. Ducky's face lost a bit of its mania as he hunched over the vent, hands shaking slightly.

Reilly's voice came again, steady, but slightly fearful. _"The next shift begins in one minute. The first shift guards will be passing you in fifteen seconds, so it's now or never. Good luck."_

"Five, four, three, two, one, it's zero hour." Before Ed could protest, Ducky quickly flipped open his lighter and lit one of the bombs.

Ed's face paled. "You dumb shit, you didn't open the vent!"

Ducky smiled. "Ye of little faith! It will fit right through the... right through the... oh _shit_." As he spoke, he attempted to push the smoke bomb through the vent openings... only to find the opening was too small.

-----------------

The two guards walked side by side down the hall. There was very little activity in this area of the hospital, owing to the time of day. One of the men wiped unsuccessfully at a powdered smear on the pocket of his uniform.

"You see now why I avoid powdered donuts, Bill?"

Bill glared at his partner as he continued to swipe at the white smudge. "Uh huh. I thought it was cause' your missus didn't care for the extra reach when she hugged you at night."

Chuckling, the other, larger man patted his gut. "Hey, Andria likes me just as I am."

"Andria likes you cause' you play bingo with her on Friday night instead of poker with the rest of us."

The other man smirked. "It's not the only thing we do on Friday night."

Bill shook his head. "Newlyweds. You people sicken me." He stopped at the rumbling sound that rolled down the corridor. "We expecting rain?"

The other guard snorted and kept walking. "Nah. But that doesn't mean we won't get any."

"I think in my next life, I want to be a weatherman," Bill said as he started strolling again. "It's the only job I know of that you can get it wrong all the time, and not get fired."

The sounds of the guards easy laughter filled the hall as they continued their final check before clocking out.

Which was, of course, when the explosion struck.

---------------

_"What's with all the codespeak, Tom? Where are you guys? Who was that?"_

It figured that Amber would come back just as they started talking about X-ray. "Uh, Amber, now's really not the best time--"

_"You're at a hospital, aren't you?"_

"This is one of those times when questions shouldn't be asked."

_"Just -- is everyone alright?"_

"For now."

_"Listen, I need to make another call. Don't hang up."_

Tom had opened his mouth to say something else, but huffed in exasperation instead. He leaned tiredly against the open passenger door of the van and exchanged an irritated look with Reilly. Beyond her, he could see coruscating lights reflecting off the neighboring SUV from the welders in the construction area. The arcs were bright enough that a nearby post on the opposite side of the van would flicker in stark relief and Tom wondered just how much the owners of the SUV had paid for that finish.

_You are getting tired, old man,_ he thought immediately afterwards, _if you're worrying about the finish of a Yuppiemobile._

"Now you see why I don't talk to that woman unless I have to?" Reilly pointed out, pulling him out of his sleep-deprived musing. "She never finishes a conver--"

Before Reilly could finish her thought, Tom detected something in his peripheral vision that caused him to drop his cell onto the floor of the van and reach around the back of his pants for his gun.

0o0o0

An older man got out of the van, forcing Sidney to duck behind the closest car, but the man had a cell phone to one ear and his hand over the other. As he talked, the man looked around without appearing to be looking around.

_Well, now,_ Sidney thought, narrowing his eyes, _this puts a wrench in things._

Sidney had expected Fullmetal and Hughes to be the only challenges, since they, like Sidney, had similar backgrounds. Those two were one thing, but it appeared that the group of civilians he had previously dismissed was, in fact, highly coordinated. That was a completely different annoyance. Sidney surreptitiously watched the man until he was sure his initial reaction was more than a hunch. The longer he watched the old man with a ponytail, the more convinced he became that there was training behind that one, be it law enforcement or perhaps some sort of military service.

Grabbing a garbage can out of a nearby stairwell (leaving the bag full of rubbish for someone else to deal with) Sidney retreated out of ear-shot before enhancing his spider and shortening the length of its final fail-safe fuse. That would buy him a little more protection against anyone who tried to tamper with it.

Sneaking back to the target, the old man and the Reilly woman were both back in the front seat. The old man was still on the phone as Sidney straightened and took a few steps away from the van. It was a shame the construction noise was so loud; he would have liked to eavesdrop. It was a great way to find a little information to add that special touch to his victims' last conversation.

He slowly inched his way closer to the van, careful to stay hidden from view. The woman sat in the drivers' seat, her unruly curls obscuring a clear profile as she turned to talk to the man. Sidney set his spider down and prepared it for detonation.

It skittered quietly against the wall that the van was backed up against. They must have parked that way for the best view of the hospital entrances as well as making sure their backs weren't exposed, a sensible precaution in his opinion. It also meant they probably weren't checking too frequently in the rear view mirror. The spider made it to the van and slowly crawled its way up. Sidney snuck another glance at the two inside, envisioning how they would die when his creation finally exploded.

Completely clueless, they continued to only watch what was in front of them as the spider trailed along the van's back edge and planted itself in the center of the roof. Now all someone had to do was try and remove it.

Sidney patted his jacket and rested his hand on the slight bulge of his gun underneath the cheap fabric, feeling a creeping tendril of excitement curl low in his belly. He could help it along, if he wished.

--------------

The two stared at each other for a single beat.

In a flurry of arms, Ed lunged for the vent to force it open, only to become entangled as his legs caught on the rope Ducky had insisted on bringing.

His fingers collided with Ducky's as the hacker tried to pull the wick out of the smoke bomb. The smack of their knuckles caused the bomb to slip, and it dropped it into the open duffel by their knees. "Oh crap oh crap oh _crap_!" Ignoring Ducky's panicked mutters, Ed tried to rescue it, but was suddenly smashed in the chin by Ducky's knee as the other man lunged for the duffle at the same time. Ed's teeth snapped together sharply, catching the edge of his tongue. His eyes watered in sudden pain, and his head flew back, ramming into the wall of the shaft. A loop of rope caught on Ed's wrist as he tried to sit up, and he abandoned his hunt for the smoke bombs as he fought to free himself.

Their combined thrashing was deafeningly loud as flesh and metal collided with the floor, walls, and ceiling around him. It had the odd resonance of a thunderstorm, and was just as deafening. Ed finally stopped struggling and was just preparing to turn his automail arm into a blade when Ducky gulped.

"We have a problem!"

Ed's eyes glared at Ducky from behind a layer of woven cord. "You think?!"

Ducky's face blanched as a wisp of smoke rose from the bag. "Oh, this is gonna hurt."

Ed stared at the other man. "Don't be stupid..." The wisp grew stronger as more smoke bombs were affected. Growling, Ed began fighting the rope again. "At least it's just smoke bombs, a little acrid, but they won't kill us... what?"

Ducky looked ready to cry as he started to struggle with the vent cover. "I'm sorry Ed!"

Before Ed could ask what he meant, a sudden shriek rose deafeningly from the bag, leaving Ed's ears throbbing. When it reached its peak, the bag shook with a muffled explosion.

"Ducky..."

"I thought it would take more than smoke bombs for a distraction! I've got a friend of a friend, he hooked me up with some fireworks and..."

"Who the hell _cares_, just get this damn rope off of me!"

Ducky continued to pull at the vent. "There's no time, see-- one of the fireworks is..."

And time ran out with a thunderous explosion. Brilliant light tore through the shaft, and Ed felt something hot strike the flesh of his left leg, just above the automail. "Ducky!"

Ed made a valiant lunge to free himself from the rope at the same moment Ducky managed to wrestle the vent cover free. With dual cries, the two plunged from the shaft in a hail of bursting light, screaming rockets, and coiling smoke.

It took nearly a minute for the ruckus to abate.

As the last few fireworks snapped and died, Ed finally had time to take stock of his situation, and suddenly wonder why he hadn't hit the floor yet.

It was about that time he heard a light click, and inexplicably, it started to rain.

------------------

Without even being aware of it, both guards dropped to their bellies on the floor. "Shit, goddamn it, not again!" Bill shouted over the alarms as he grabbed for his walkie-talkie. The other guard already had his gun in hand and was carefully rising to his knees.

"This is Wright and Campbell, we have an explosion on level two, I repeat, an explosion on level two, do you copy?" Static met his inquiry. Depressing the button once more, he rose to his feet, followed by Campbell. "Wright to base, do you copy?"

Static again, and then a voice broke through. _"We copy, backup is on the way. Stand by and wait for their arrival."_

"I hear ya, waiting for backup." With a sharp curse, Bill shoved his walkie-talkie back on his belt and pulled his gun. "Stand by my ass. If there's injured in there, we need to check it out. Keep your head down and follow close. If it gets hairy, we beat feet and wait for backup."

Nervously, Bruce nodded his head once, sharply. Wiping the sudden sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve, he followed.

Fifteen feet down the hall they saw smoke and water trailing out from under a door. "Shit, we got a fire!" Bill ran a short way down the hall where a fire extinguisher was mounted on the wall. Hefting it, he rushed back to the doorway where Bruce waited nervously, gun still drawn. "Alright, I'm going in, cover me!"

After the initial eruption from the room, it had fallen eerily silent. Save the smoke lazily tracing out from under the door, there was no indication anything had even happened.

Bill glanced back at his partner, giving him a short nod before easing up to the door. There was a sound, though it was difficult to interpret. Taking one final, quick breath, Bill spun through the door, immediately followed by Bruce.

What they saw brought them up short.

The sprinklers were on; however, the cold water was largely ignored...

-----------------

"For now," Tom said into the cellphone. Reilly could see the tension in his jaw as it clenched.

Reilly had met Amber a few times and while she didn't dislike the woman, she found her a little too hyper for her temperment. From the little Tom had said about her, she was a valuable ally and had helped him in more than a few investigations in the past. To this day, she still had no idea how they met, or even what the woman actually did for a living; all she'd ever been able to figure out was that Amber had a government job, and not some paper-pushing clerical one, either. As far as she was concerned, it was probably better that she didn't know the whole story.

Reilly knew Tom well --hell, he'd damn near raised her after her mother died and her father spent so much time working nights-- but there were blanks about the man she'd never been able to fill in. When she was a teen, she'd made it a mission to find out everything she could. Unfortunately, the old bastard was as slippery as an eel when he didn't want anyone to know something. During that phase of her life, she did learn one thing... if she needed to know, he'd tell her. Even if she didn't want to know.

Tom opened his mouth to say something else, but from the exasperated huff that came out instead, Reilly guessed that Amber had put the phone down again. Tom leaned against the open passenger door of the van as though he'd been drained of energy and exchanged an irritated look with her. Reilly could sympathze. Between the events of the past 48 hours, Ed and Ducky's antics, and now, Amber's scatter-brained phone call, Reilly wouldn't be surprised if the normally easy-going man blew a gasket.

"Now you see why I don't talk to that woman unless I have to?" Reilly pointed out. "She never finishes a conver--"

Before Reilly could finish her thought, Tom dropped the cell onto the floor of the van, reached around to the back of his pants and pulled out a gun.

Her heart stopped as she stared down the barrel of the .38 Police Special. Black spots ringed her view and narrowed until there was just a tunnel that was filled with the gun and the glacial hardness in her surrogate father's eyes.

Her first thought --that he really had gone postal-- was instantly replaced with one much more logical and far more frightening as she slowly followed the line of sight from the gun to a point over her left shoulder.

She barely had enough time to comprehend that they were in danger, before she felt the cold bite of nickel plate against her temple and a large, warm, calloused hand curl almost lovingly around the side of her neck. She tried to swallow with a throat that was horribly dry and heard the different tones of two hammers being pulled back at the same time.

"I seriously doubt you have the nerve required to chance pulling the trigger," the stranger said, the words heavy with an almost lyrical, Old World accent. _Ed has that same accent. Oh Goddess..._

Her rather irrelevant train of thought was derailed, however, as the gun was held steady to her head while the man's thumb almost absently stroked the back of her neck.

"You can attempt it, but you and I both know she'll be dead before your bullet exits the chamber."


	26. Ch 23a All This And a Bag of Chips

**"All This and a Bag of Chips"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Three**

**PART ONE**

**June 3, 2006 - 10:42pm**

**Wichita, Kansas**

"Bella, did you see the file on Susan Ames?" Heather asked, as she shuffled through a stack of folders. _Nope, nothing to see here, folks. All is as it should be, nice and routine. Tiger has been handed off to a pair of orderlies and is off to get his arm x-rayed, and Ray left with Gene to play some cards and keep the boy company while they wait for his friend to return._

At least that was the story on the surface. Except the 'orderlies' weren't staff and she'd heard Gene mention something about alarms just before Ray had wheeled him to parts unknown. _Let them handle it_, she thought. Ray knew Gene best and had a wonderful rapport with the boy. On top of that, Ray was also privy to more of what was going on right at the moment than she was. Not that she resented it any. Heather had decided with the first whisperings of a 'plan' to get Tiger out of the hospital that she would much rather be on a 'need-to-know' basis. And she didn't need to know what the big nurse and his be-speckled, geeky cohort was up to.

Bella, the short duty nurse, without tearing her eyes away from screen before her, reached beneath a stack of paperwork to retrieve the misplaced folder and passed it across the counter. Then she pulled away from her desk and stood to stretch her arms languidly over her head. "Damn, swing-shift kicks my ass." Without waiting for a reply, she slipped out of her heavy, black shoes and kicked them under the desk. Reaching out with her foot, she captured a pair of flowered crocs and slid into them with a sigh. "I know Christa hates these things, but she doesn't have my corns."

Heather glanced up with a half-smile. "Too bad you don't know anyone in the medical field."

Bella chuckled, "Forget that, none of the doctors here know a thing about feet!"

o0o0o

At the far end of the corridor, in a cramped office that might have been a closet at one time, Ray crouched near Gene's chair. The young boy was elbows deep in a bundle of wires that had been pulled out from a half-hidden access panel. Gene was methodical, carefully clearing the mass to the side without dislodging any connections. On the floor next to them was a laptop that Gene had hacked into the hospital security system, which was currently scrolling reams of code that could have been Greek for all that Ray could understand it. He shot another nervous glance at the door while Gene continued fiddling. Though it was locked, he was certain someone was going to come poking their head in any second.

A small grunt from the side made Ray spin back around in time to see Gene pull his hand free from a sparking connection. "Dammit kid, you planning to fry yourself?"

Gene glared back through his heavy glasses, then gingerly picked up the grouping of wires again. "Well, turning off the power would help, but I think the staff might be a little suspicious if they can't make espressos between rounds." He dove back into the tangle of wires, effectively slamming an invisible door on Ray. A moment later, he murmured, "This should do--" The rest of the comment was cut off when they heard a muted whistle and then the floor vibrated.

"Odd."

"X-ray's right below us, right?" Gene asked.

"Ye--" At that moment, the alarms started screaming and the sprinklers clicked on, shorting out the laptop and the exposed wiring. Ray sprung to his feet and yanked Gene's wheelchair back. "What the hell did you do?"

Gene went pale and his eyes were so wide that the pupils looked tiny. "I swear, that wasn't me."

o0o0o

Al settled into his seat as Lt. Colonel Hughes -- Brig-- no, Mister, Al corrected -- pushed his wheelchair down the hall. The girl who had come in with him quickly took the lead. The way she forged ahead, with an almost palpable confidence that didn't completely cover an underlying sense of caution, reminded him of how his brother acted in unfamiliar and potentially dangerous situations. And, oddly enough, her mannerisms helped to ease a few of his worries. At the very least the girl looked like she knew what she was doing which, Al had learned from watching Ed for so many years, was half the battle. And he'd always felt safe in Hughes' presence, a natural effect he had no doubt, came from the older man's authority as a parent. He snuck another glance up at Hughes, only to find a pair of green eyes and glasses already gazing back down at him. They exchanged such shy, absurd, and ecstatic smiles filled with so much unspoken emotion that Al had to look away and blink back more tears. A heavy hand ruffled through his hair, the girl turned around and mouthed "almost there." Al was minutes away from seeing his brother again... it was the best he'd felt in weeks.

Which was, of course, when the explosion struck.

Emergency lights blinked, alarms wailed, and water rained on them from the sprinklers above. Hughes struggled to pull the wheelchair to a stop on the suddenly slick linoleum as the girl rushed to an intersecting hallway and peered around the corner.

She turned to face them, her expression a mix of disbelief, slight panic, and (another Ed favorite) supreme irritation. She waved for them to move and pointed to a doorway to the right, all the while holding one hand to her ear and muttering what Al was sure was some very creative language.

He quickly hopped out of the wheelchair and followed Hughes through the indicated door. They were in some sort of storage closet, the walls lined with shelves and supplies. An acrid smoke billowed through the vent above that reeked of scorched rotten eggs, and Al yanked the front of his tunic over his nose to filter some of the stench. Next to him, Hughes tried to cover a cough without much success.

A heartbeat later, the girl slipped inside and pushed the door almost all the way closed, leaving the smallest sliver of hallway showing. "Dammit, Ducks! What are you doing?!" she hissed to no one. "Tom? Reilly? Ducky and Term are in trouble, _hello_?" With an exasperated sigh, she pulled something out of her ear; beside her, Hughes did the same. "I can't believe him!" the girl whispered dramatically.

o0o0o

Bella wriggled her toes while she typed. At the adjacent desk, the other nurse, Christa, had just returned from break. The younger woman tossed her purse haphazardly beneath her station before dropping lightly into her chair. Glancing at Bella, she frowned slightly. "Ugh, you're wearing those eyesores again?" Clicking her tongue with exaggerated disgust, she met Bella's eye with a chuckle.

Shaking her head, Bella smiled before turning back to her computer. Then she frowned. "What the--?"

Then all Hell broke loose.

o0o0o

"What happened?" Hughes whispered in the dark, cramped closet.

"He... they... I'm going to _kill_ him!" the girl barely managed to force out.

"Heist," Hughes replied calmly, "we don't have time for that."

Heist frowned, and her brows knit together as she collected herself. "The room, _the rendezvous point_, is leaking water and smoke."

Hughes groaned.

"_And_," Heist continued, "the night guards are calling in backup."

Footsteps echoed louder and louder and Heist whirled around to spy through the crack in the door. Hughes, two heads taller, also edged in close to watch the goings on in the hall. The noise passed quickly and Hughes exhaled slowly as he cast a grim half-smile Al's direction. "Just a couple of hospital workers."

Al nodded and they both turned their attention to their guide. Heist had resumed grumbling to herself, but in their cramped quarters, Al could make out what she was saying. For the most part it was little more than obvious expletives and creative epithets aimed at Ducky, but among the muttered curses she was rapidly working out plans of action... and discarding them just as quickly.

"Okay... Maybe the sprinklers shorted their radios... Backup could be caught up somewhere else... Think, Heist, come on, you've been in worse jams before..."

"We need to leave," Hughes urged gently.

"I know, I know. Damn Ducky! I should have known he'd screw this up somehow."

"We don't know that Ducky and Ed are even involved in this," Hughes said.

Al struggled to hide a smirk and wondered if Hughes had really forgotten all the paperwork Colonel Mustang had to do whenever Ed had returned from a mission.

Heist stared at him derisively and pointed to the vent above. "That is classic Ducky right there. He's been in love with the smoke bomb since my brother introduced him to them when we were kids. They're one of his favorite low-tech inventions of the century, right after the Chinese take-out box." Abruptly she fell silent. The tip of her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth as she rolled it between her teeth.

Hughes growled, "Heist--"

"Screw Ducky. We don't need him."

Alarmed, as he had really only managed to piece together that Ducky was working with Ed, Al started to protest, but Hughes motioned for him to wait. Heist nodded to herself as she worked out some plan in her mind, pausing briefly to assess who was making the next round of footsteps outside.

"Guards," she whispered, carefully closing the door completely, her hand still on the handle. She waited for the noise to subside and began to pull the door open again. "Come on. Ducks can take care of himself."

o0o0o

Ed could barely see through the restraining coils of slippery rope. Hanging upside down, he had to fight against vertigo as he attempted to free his right arm to cut through the fibrous material. Thankfully he'd managed to transmute his arm just before they crashed through the grate. Even more thankfully, he hadn't sliced his leg open when the loops of rope pinned his arm to his side. At his back, Ducky thrashed fanatically, adding to Ed's exasperating struggle to free them both. Spitting water from his lips, Ed gave his shoulder a hard twist, and felt the barest give in the rope. About that time, someone burst through the doors at the far end of the room --

o0o0o

_-- Something's hanging from the ceiling_, Bill thought as he blinked water out of his eyes. It was writhing and smoking, and it looked like part of it had been scorched. To Bill, it brought to mind the victims from a campy movie he saw with his buddies sometime in the late eighties..."Killer Robot Clowns from Space" or something to that effect. They'd been ensconced in a sticky mass of cotton candy, sorta like sugary cocoons. The soggy, rope bound concoction before him was equally unlikely within the context of a hospital X-Ray room. But there it was. The sound they had heard was soft spoken cursing and small grunts of discomfort.

Bill immediately dropped into cop mode, brandishing his fire extinguisher like a weapon. "Freeze!" --

o0o0o

-- Ducky wriggled even more furiously, and Ed desperately wished he had a free leg to kick him. This additional movement was obviously poorly met because he heard another order to freeze. Knowing he had only seconds, Ed relaxed his body as much as he was able, releasing his breath in a steady stream. The tiny amount of slack was minimal, but he took it. With a vicious cry, he pushed out with his automail, and was rewarded with a wet, ripping sound as the rope finally gave. --

o0o0o

-- Bill was gratified to see Bruce take up position a short ways away, his gun steadily trained on the tangled mass before him. Reaching for his walkie-talkie, he was once more rewarded by a sizzle of intermittent static. Count on a hospital to cut corners with security. Returning his attention back to the hanging mass, he was just beginning to wonder how the two men had become so hopelessly entangled when there was sudden movement from beneath the ropes.

"I said freeze!!"

There was a second where the mass seemed about to obey.

And then there was a flurry of movement as a wild animal burst out of the cocoon --

o0o0o

-- "Shit, he's armed!"

Ed felt a single shot whiz past his ear. Peripherally he was aware of Ducky hitting the floor behind him. This was pushed to the back of his mind as he leapt and slid, feet first, across a table sprouting some kind of metal, branch-like appendages. He had the barest remembrance of the Rockbell's Automail table, and then he was colliding into the larger man.

With a grunt, the man staggered back, but didn't fall. Ed bounced back after the first strike, performing a quick handstand as he flipped out of the way.

Not wanting to inflict mortal harm on the men, as well as trying to reduce his threat, Ed quickly transmuted his arm back. He ducked once more behind the bizarre table in hopes of hiding the alchemic modification, and frowned when he saw how much he'd shredded the latex covering.

Turning his eyes back to the current situation, he saw the man, who looked like some sort of patrol officer, turn to his companion. While he was briefly looking away, Ed charged again.

He hadn't counted on the big officer having quick reflexes. The blow from the metal canister the officer was holding felt like a punch from Greed's fist, solid and unbreakable. He couldn't help the yelp of pain as he hit the floor. For several seconds he lost all equilibrium as the world tipped on its side.

He could hear a faint buzzing, and the gentle patter of raindrops caressed his cheek. When he opened his eyes, the officer was standing over him, still looking ready to fight, but with an oddly guilty look on his face. Then the eyes shifted to Ed's right arm, and the look went from guilty to horrified.

Pushing down the queasy feeling in his stomach, Ed started to rise.

"Stay on the floor, hands where I can see them!"

Still dazed slightly, Ed let his eyes drift to the right. The other officer had Ducky backed in a corner and was restraining him with some kind of odd, plastic manacles. Rolling his eyes back to his own opponent, Ed saw he still hadn't dropped the metal can that vaguely resembled a CTC extinguisher. That was good, a gun would have put a crimp in his plan. Focusing himself, he knew he only had one shot.

With a toothy grin, Ed lunged.

It was over in seconds. Needing just a moment to catch his breath, Ed felt his head where the canister had left it ringing. He felt as though his eye was going to explode from the left side of his face. It had only taken a second to disable the security man before him, once he actually managed to punch him. He blamed the headrush from hanging upside down and strapped to Ducky for his sluggish attack.

_Ducky_.

Ed whirled just in time to avoid a tackle from the second security guard. Still against the wall, Ducky appeared to be struggling with his restraints. Concentrating on the current battle, Ed paused at the gun leveled on him. He blinked at the steady stream of water in his eyes, his hands held ready at his sides.

"Okay kid, just take it easy." The security guard facing him now was younger than the other one and his face had the look of someone unused to confrontation. This might have made for an easy fight... except for the gun gripped tightly in a shaking hand.

Ed was less worried about himself than he was for the other man in the room. Clenching his teeth, he balled his hands into fists. "I'm not a kid," he muttered darkly.

The guard seemed to mentally steel himself as he forced his hand steady. Keeping his eyes locked on Ed, he pulled his radio from his belt. "B-base, this is Campbell. We have a situation in X-Ray room three. Wright is down and I'm holding two intruders. I need backup, now!"

The hiss from speaker was loud, but Ed could still make out the words. "Backup is on its way. You were ordered to wait for their arrival before proceeding!"

The guard grimaced, still facing Ed. "The situation escalated and we were forced to respond. Be advised there are possible incendiary devices present."

There was a pause, and then the voice was back. "I copy that, do you require bomb squad?"

Breathing quickly, the guard nodded his head. "Ye-yeah... you better do that. And make sure that backup kicks it into high gear!"

Returning the walkie-talkie to his belt, the guard -- Campbell, he'd called himself -- took a more stable stance as he gestured at Ed with the gun in his hand. "Lie down on the ground, face down and hands outstretched. Now!"

Glaring, Ed nonetheless did as he was told. His forehead tickled where a small cut bled slightly and he moved to wipe it.

"I said don't move!"

The sound of a hammer being cocked made him rethink his decision so he dropped his hand back to the puddled floor. Lying still, he heard the sound of several footsteps and the room was suddenly flooded with bodies. Voices filled the room as the area was secured. After several moments, the constant drum of water trickled away, then stopped. Ed could hear Ducky protesting as he was manhandled to the ground to sit nearby. The other guard Ed had knocked out earlier was being checked over. He was sitting up slowly and rubbing his head.

_This enough of a distraction?_ thought Ed irritably as he was manhandled up by the arm and then shoved down to sit next to Ducky. His head was really hurting and he had no doubt the whole left side of his face was going to be one big bruise.

A security guard found one of the duffles and started going through it. Another hurried over to stop him as some lingering smoke from Ducky's smoke bombs drifted out. "Put it down, there could be an explosive!"

In his haste to relieve himself of the potential bomb, the guard dropped the bag to the floor, causing several security men to wince and lurch away. The actual result, though, was to loosen the contents and send several of the smoke bombs to roll out onto the white vinyl where they sputtered slightly and died.

The guard who'd originally dropped the duffel leaned over and picked one up, quickly stating the obvious. "It's just smoke bombs!"

A couple of guards chuckled in relief... at least until the implications started to sink in.

"Oh shit!"

Ed winced at all the guns leveling on him. By his side, Ducky twitched nervously, wriggling his shoulders in an attempt to get comfortable. "Hey, I got poor circulation, you wouldn't mind loosening these just a little... pleeeeease?"

Ignoring Ducky, the head security officer focused on Ed. "Where are the others!" He demanded briskly.

Ed shrugged. "What do you mean? This was just a practical joke--"

"A dare!" interjected Ducky, only to find more weapons swinging his way.

Frowning, Ed nodded. "Yeah, a dare."

The guard nodded, unconvinced. "You don't lie very well, but you do it better than your partner. Now, once more, where are the others?"

Ed had never been able to pull off innocent with any great success, the number of times Winry had dented his skull with a wrench was proof of that. In any case, their intent was very obvious, and they were trying to pull off a distraction after all. _Might as well make it spectacular._ He could already hear Al groaning in trepidation. "You got me. The real reason we're here is to kidnap one of your patients. My team has already infiltrated the hospital and probably completed their objective by now."

He could feel Ducky's eyes burning into the side of his head. Smiling internally, Ed glanced over at his companion. _Yeah, he looked close enough._ "Although, WE weren't supposed to get caught!" Grinding his teeth together, he suddenly lunged at Ducky, punching him in the cheek.

With a yell of surprise, Ducky fell back, bowling over the guard who'd been standing behind him.

In seconds, Ed felt arms wrap around him. He fought down a grin -- it was going perfectly. Pretending to struggle, he used his right hand to collect a daub of blue paint from the knuckle of his left. Allowing himself to be subdued, he drew a quick array on the floor at his feet.

With a thunderous eruption, the floor sprouted tentacles. Many of the guards attempted to fire, but quickly found themselves hopelessly coiled in the writhing material.

Most of the lights burst out in a shower of sparks at the blast of alchemic power. As the room dimmed, the confusion became even more apparent. Thankfully, none of the guns discharged, the men obviously had the intelligence to not fire blindly.

Ed was only forced to knock out one of the guards manually, feeling a burst of fierce pleasure as he did so. He still wasn't done however. The transmuted floor was all well and good, but only in a temporary capacity. Reilly had already warned him that excessive use of alchemy was to be avoided at all costs, and she'd even managed to sound eerily like Al when she reminded him that he tended to go overboard. Not to mention the yelling, cursing, and even crying of the guards was more than his aching head could tolerate.

_Time for the more traditional approach._ One of the duffles had fallen into the room with him, and was currently lying in a soggy pile near the cold-cocked body of the last guard. Ed's duffel was almost in the room, hanging suspended from the same broken chunk of metal that had stopped their plunge to the floor.

Several items had fallen from the hanging bag, including one thing Ed had been looking for -- a roll of Duck tape. He rolled his eyes as he retrieved it, still confused as to why it was named after a waterbird.

For that matter, he still hadn't figured out why Ducky was named for one either.

Tearing off a piece of the silver-grey tape with his teeth, Ed went to the first guard and taped his mouth shut. Stripping off a bit more, he used it to bind the arms and legs as well.

Straightening, he looked around the room at the rest of the guards. Stretching his back, he got started. Within twenty minutes, he'd finally finished, though he'd had to resort to using some of the rope by this time, having exhausted all the tape.

Drawing out another array, he returned the floor to normal. Ignoring the gripes and complaints of the still bound Ducky, Ed retrieved a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of gloves from his own duffel to hide his arm.

Finally, he turned back to his partner. Feeling only a teenie bit guilty, he quickly dispensed of Ducky's restraints by transmuting one finger into a sharp blade to cut through the tough plastic.

Ducky frowned as the white strips fell to the floor. "Hey, how come you didn't have to wear cuffs?"

Ed looked at Ducky pointedly as he changed his shirt and pulled on the gloves. "I'm not the one with a blue face."

Nodding jovially now that he was finally free, Ducky looked around the room, his eyes slowly widening. "Dude, that... was... AWESOME!!!!!!!"

Ed was somewhat surprised by the reaction, half expecting a tongue lashing for ignoring the other man's plight while he attended to the guards. Though on a schedule, he allowed himself a very brief feeling of pride as he too looked around the room. In Amestris, alchemy was a well understood science. Though impressive, it was recognized for what it was, a useful tool. But here, on the other side of the gate, it was literally magic to those unfamiliar with it. A simple thing like transmuting a floor was more than enough to impress an ignorant mind.

As far as ignorance went, Ed couldn't even pretend superiority... far from it. Nearly everything about this world was strange and foreign to him. This room alone contained things he couldn't begin to guess the purpose for. Metal and plastic objects, looking almost like mechanisms of torture, dotted the shelves on three of the four walls. The fourth wall was even stranger, most of it dominated by what appeared to be a coated window judging by the light it cast. But there was no way it could be natural light. Ed knew beyond a doubt that they were too far towards the middle of the building for that to be an outside wall.

Pieces of shiny paper were clinging to the window. Looking closer, Ed could see what appeared to be odd pictures of bones. Most of them had something wrong with them, breaks, and out of joint sockets. One picture even showed what looked like heavy screws inserted through a wrist. To Ed's eyes, it presented a macabre sight, an unpleasant reminder of his own hours in surgery, and he looked away quickly. It was time to leave. Gathering his duffel, he tossed the other one to Ducky.

"Come on, we need to meet up with the others, get Al, and get the hell out of here!" Without looking back, Ed ran for the door.

Stumbling after him, Ducky paused at the exit, looking around again at the struggling guards. "So awesome!!!"

"Come on Ducky, move your ass!!" He looked back to see the young hacker run out the door. Good thing, because Ed wasn't entirely sure where they should be going. Already the small flutter residing in his chest had started to grow. It would only take moments for that flutter to evolve into blind panic, and Ed just didn't have the time for it. "As far as I'm concerned, we can screw plan B. I came here to get Al and I'm not leaving without him!"

Ducky had only just managed to catch up with him, breathing heavily. Ed blinked at the hacker's face, feeling a bubble of amusement in spite of his fears. The makeup had hopelessly smeared, covering his neck, shirt collar, and even his hair in sticky blue muck. In addition to that, his right cheek had swelled slightly where Ed's fist had struck, and he was certain it was probably bruised as well, though he couldn't tell through the layer of paint.

His amusement died quickly in a wave of guilt as Ducky pinned him with a glare. "You punched me you jerk!"

Ed didn't lower his eyes or look away. He supposed he could have been gentler, but he'd allowed his pent up frustration take over his emotions. "Sorry."

Pushing past him, Ducky grabbed the door to the stairwell. Feeling like a first-rate bastard, Ed turned to follow, only to be stopped by Ducky's laughter. "So we gonna stand around here jawing all night, or do you want to rescue your little brother?" Grinning, Ducky spoke in that airy tone he used to communicate on the walkie-talkie. "Reilly, hon, change of plans. D.D.T. is moving forward to collect the package, get back with a location, over."

Eyes wide at the flip in Ducky's mood, Ed paused for only a moment before darting forward. Ducky had already started down the stairs and he was... singing.

_"I'm on the run with things to do_

_I've got a burnt orange peel_

_And a potato stew_

_I've got work to get done_

_I've got work to get done_

_Nobody knows where to run"_

Feeling all traces of remorse bleed away, Ed ground his teeth together and followed. Maybe he should have hit him with his right hand after all.

o0o0o

"Come on," Heist said, "Ducks can take care of himself."

"What about my brother?!" Al whispered frantically.

Heist pushed the door closed again and looked thoughtfully at Al like she'd suddenly remembered he was even there. "Oh, yeah. Ed has your clothes. Guess you'll just have to wear that until we get back to the hotel." And then she returned her attention to what lay beyond the door.

"Oh, here." Hughes fumbled reaching in an inner pocket of the scrubs he was wearing until he withdrew a marker that he pressed into Al's hand. "Ed said it was alchemically neutral."

"Thanks."

"Come on, boys," Heist said, pulling the door open. "Time to move."

They stole quietly down the hall back in the direction they had come with Heist keeping up a running commentary and a quick pace. "There's a staircase," she murmured conversationally, just loud enough to be heard over the alarms, "at the end of this next hall. Three flights down to the parking garage. As long as we can get there before the guards, we should be home free--"

"Hey you! Stop!"

Al chanced a glance behind only to see a pair of guards jogging towards them. Then a hand clamped firmly around his arm and he focused his attention forward. Heist had already sprinted to the next intersection; Hughes dragged Al to catch up to her. There were more people here, nurses and aides escorting patients towards exits. The sprinklers were off in this wing, but the alarms rang on, adding to the general chaos of the evacuation.

Heist continued leading the way, maneuvering deftly through the crowd, slowly building a bit of distance between them. She would occasionally look over her shoulder, frown and slow down, but a few steps later her pace picked up again. Though they had been traveling at a fairly quick stride, apparently Heist thought they could be going faster.

About halfway down the hall, Heist veered to the right and disappeared. When Hughes and Al reached the spot, a hand beckoned from behind an unmarked door. They entered what looked like an empty office in the middle of remodeling; Al surveyed buckets of paint and supplies, tools and a step ladder.

"Change of plans," Heist announced without preamble. "One floor up, follow the signs to the cafeteria. It closed two hours ago and deliveries are in the morning, so it should be empty. Take the service elevator in the back to the loading dock -- the cafeteria's on it's own alarm section, elevators should still be working. From there it's just a flight of stairs up to the parking garage."

"Why the sudden change?" Hughes asked.

"You move too slow, old man," Heist replied evenly.

Al watched the two exchange a look, and then Hughes nodded in silent understanding.

"I'll head them off," Heist insisted. "Get Term Jr. out of here." Then she opened the door wide enough to point out another stairwell across the hall. "Tell Ducks not to worry," she shot over her shoulder before she slipped out and bolted off.

Dangerously close behind, several guards ran by; Hughes quickly closed the door of their hideout lest they be seen. He waited a few moments before peering outside again and when the coast was clear, Hughes took Al's hand and they crossed the hall and bounded up the stairs.

They were going against the flow of foot traffic, and Hughes absorbed the brunt of the jostling as they made their way up one stair at a time. It only took a few steps for Al to notice that Hughes was struggling to keep pace. By the time they reached the next level, he could no longer hide his grimace. Still, he held the door open and beckoned for Al to go first. There were fewer people on this floor, and as they followed the arrows to the cafeteria, the crowd thinned out even more.

The eating area was deserted, a few security lights interspersed throughout the room the only illumination.

As soon as they'd crossed the threshold Hughes fell back against the wall next to the entrance and grasped at his shoulder with a wince.

It was then Al realized that the man was in agony. He'd gone pale and clammy and he was breathing heavier than he should have been. "General?"

Hughes quirked a pained smile and said, "Maes, Al. I'm not an officer here." He glanced over at the shoulder he was holding and shrugged with the other one. "Just a minor accident; nothing to worry about."

Al wasn't convinced, but he also knew they didn't have time to fuss over it. He held out his hand and said, "We'd better get going then. I'll help you."

Hughes looked like he was about to protest, but thought better of it and took the offer. Al was just tall enough to fit under the bigger man's good arm, and he took some of the weight.

As Hughes moved away from the wall, Al wrapped his arm around his waist, then jerked back as the other man hissed and Al's arm felt sticky and wet. He stared down, saw redness and gasped, "You're bleeding!"

"Let's get a move on," Hughes said.

Al didn't argue as they limped toward the kitchen of the cafeteria; every moment they wasted was one closer to getting caught.

o0o0o

Ed peered out the stairwell door. Not surprisingly, the corridors had quickly filled with moving bodies --primarily hospital staff with a smattering of confused patients. However, in increasing numbers, security people in the familiar blue had begun filtering through the throng. The time they could spend hidden behind the door was finite; already Ed could hear footsteps thudding up the stairwell. Hiding among the crowd might be difficult as well, there weren't a lot of people out there dressed in black and covered in blue face paint. He felt Ducky tap his shoulder, and he turned, only to gape in surprise.

"Where did you get that?!"

Ducky grinned through the remains of his makeup. "I nicked it from one of the laundry carts while you were busy ogling the X-Ray room."

Ed shook his head, accepting the white coat with bemusement and even a little respect... at least until he slid his arms into the sleeves. Ed glared darkly as Ducky guffawed. "Think you could have found one in my size?" he asked through tightly clenched teeth.

Ducky's eyes shone, and Ed could tell he was having difficulty repressing his response. Before the reply could be made, however, Ed turned back to the door, double rolling the long sleeves. With any luck, the guards wouldn't notice that his coat was dragging on the floor.

Glancing back at Ducky, he was relieved to see the man had sobered up, though the traces of a smile were still evident in the crinkles around his eyes. Sighing, Ed pushed through the door, fixing his face with a neutral expression and hoping Ducky would do the same. As they moved into the hallway, Ed angled for the elevator, hoping that the group of doctors headed down would be enough of a cover to conceal them from the wary guards.

The elevator trip was brief, and fortunately uneventful. As soon as their floor appeared, the two men hurried out, making their way towards the nurse's station midway down the long corridor. The pace here was slightly more relaxed than the floors above. There were more patients mingled with the hospital staff, and they were clearly trying to minimize any threat that could be present.

They threaded their way through the thinning crowd, Ed following Ducky, who seemed to be following arrows on the floor and signs pointing toward the cafeteria. While this section of the hospital was less crowded than the previous floor, it also had the disadvantage of making the two young men stand out more. At least they were managing to avoid security. Ed just hoped the other man knew where he was going -- the last thing they needed to do was get trapped somewhere with only one exit.

A set of wide doors graced the far end of the hall with 'Cafeteria' painted in big red letters overhead and Ed was hesitant to enter. His gut was screaming _trap_ and he was about to hustle Ducky towards another stairwell. Unfortunately, the thunder of several people pounding down the stairs took that choice away from them. They'd barely managed to get hidden in the cafeteria, when a group of security spilled out of the stairway doors; the lead man of the group talking animatedly on his radio. The voice that responded seemed unnaturally loud and was directing them towards Ed and Ducky's current location. Swearing desperately, Ed cast about for escape and saw the steel doors behind the counter. Far be it for him to look a gift horse in the mouth. Latching on to Ducky's sleeve, Ed half-dragged the other man towards the doors. With a final quick glance over his shoulder, he hurried the both of them into the kitchen... and stopped short.

o0o0o

"Please, continue," Sidney gestured to the discarded cell phone. "I would hate to interrupt." The echoing sounds in the parking garage were loud, but Bond could still hear the tinny female voice squawking from the tiny speaker. Hell, he was pretty sure he even recognized it. The grey haired man didn't move, and his eyes remained locked with Sidney's own.

He continued his methodical stroking of the woman, Reilly's, neck. Far from sexual, the motion instead made him feel calmly powerful, knowing he could crush her at any moment. The other man seemed to be aware of that fact as well, but save for a slight tremor along his jawline, his expression gave away nothing. The standoff couldn't last, someone always broke and did something rash.

It would be the woman. Already Sidney could feel her gathering herself for some kind of action. He tightened his fingers enough to make her gasp, and she relaxed against the door again and he allowed the barest of smiles to show. In other circumstances it would have appeared charming. "Well well, we seem to have a situation here."

The other man didn't so much as blink. Sidney dropped his hand from Reilly's neck long enough to twist it into her masses of sweaty curls. It would be harder for her to break away from him now -- not without losing some scalp in the process. Leaning closer, but keeping most of his head hidden behind Reilly's, he pressed his lips to the back of her left ear. "All right darling, now reach behind yourself like a good girl and open this door won't you? And try not to be clumsy -- I can still use you as a shield even if you're dead."

Following his instructions, Reilly worked her arm awkwardly behind herself, having to hitch her shoulders back and her breasts up in order to reach the handle of the van. At the slight incline the van was resting at, the door dropped open quickly, half spilling Reilly until she grabbed the steering wheel. At the same time she cried out in obvious pain as her hair was pulled by the hold Sidney had on it. His arm was still through the window, so her range of motion was severely limited.

Sidney knew this was his most precarious position. He could see that knowledge reflected back at him in the other man's eyes. For the briefest of seconds, his head had been in full view. He expected the other man to fire, and had already prepared to eliminate the woman the second he did -- but there was no shot, and he had to allow the barest admiration for the other man's patience. He could have made a good agent with the proper training.

By this time, Reilly had regained her footing, and Sidney was able to reposition the muzzle of his gun at the base of her neck while he tore his other hand free from her scalp. She hissed at the twiney snaps as several hairs were pulled out, but he ignored her discomfort. Reaching around the open door, he returned his free hand to her neck while repositioning his weapon at the spot behind her left ear.

The lot was still basically empty at this point, so Sidney had her back with him towards a collection of smaller vehicles, never taking his eyes off the silver-haired man on the other side of the van. Unconcerned at being seen, he had no wish to be near anything taller than himself. The last thing he needed was some skinny kid leaping down on him from above --

o0o0o

-- Tom never flinched as Reilly was hauled roughly from the van. His gun never wavered when -- for just the barest moment -- Bond's head was exposed as Reilly lost her footing. He didn't dare risk the shot, no matter how good he was. As the two moved slowly away from the vehicle, Tom eased around the front of the hood, never breaking eye contact with the other man. Bond backed Reilly between two compacts, the space behind him open and clear. As of yet, the man had made no demands. Instead, he seemed to be simply buying time. Tom had no doubt as to whom his true target was. There wasn't much time.

o0o0o

"Brother!"

Ed felt his body slammed backward as something launched into his chest, nearly knocking him back out into the main part of the cafeteria. He felt Ducky place a restraining hand against his back to steady him and then all he knew was the young man with his arms wrapped around him in a fierce embrace. "A-Al?" Ed squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a poisoned sickness lift from his gut and evaporate as he clung to the shaking form of his little brother.

The last time he'd had such a reunion with Al, they'd been buried under heaps of metal and Al had melded part of his soul into his old armor body. Then, his embrace had nearly crushed Ed. By contrast, the body he now occupied felt tiny and frail. Ed was worried he might actually hurt his brother if he held him too tightly.

As Al's hitching breath subsided a bit, Ed finally looked up to see Ducky standing a short distance away talking quietly to Hughes, who looked a little worse for wear. Turning back to his brother, Ed smiled crookedly. "Hey, come on, you weren't afraid I'd let you down were you?"

Al managed a chuckle, wiping the moisture from his cheeks.

With Al calmed somewhat, Ed stepped away from him, saying, "We don't have much time. Security's probably headed this way."

Al was immediately all business again as he nodded and pointed toward the back of the kitchen. "Heist said the loading dock is back there."

Hughes and Ducky joined them then, and Ed glanced back at the the younger man for confirmation.

"If Heist said it'll get us to the rendezvous, then it'll get us there," Ducky said.

At that moment, the sound of the cafeteria doors swinging open with a loud bang reminded them of the need to move now. Ed grabbed Al by the sleeve, and bolted for the loading dock. He didn't look back but knew Hughes and Ducky were hot on his heels.

Reilly had drilled into them the need for subtlety, but discretion was a luxury during a foot chase. Ed chuckled at the confusion the guards must be feeling about now. The sudden appearance of a wall where a hallway used to be was sure to put a crack in their sanity. With a surge of relief only slightly less than what he felt upon finding Al, Ed charged up the last set of stairs leading to the dock. He couldn't wait to sag down in the van for a well deserved break. Maybe he could even convince Reilly to stop at one of those hamburger places. Keeping that thought in mind, and a wide smile on his face, Ed slammed open the door, glancing over his shoulder with a yell. "Come on guys, quit dragging your feet!" In the distance, he could just make out the van amongst a cluster of smaller vehicles. After making sure Al was keeping up, Ed looked back towards the van. He frowned, slowing just a little. Something was off... the driver's side door was hanging open...

o0o0o

Heist charged through the doors into the parking garage stairwell and jogged up to the next floor. A sense of urgency was pushing her, but it was no longer the need to elude capture. She'd led the security team pursuing her on a merry chase throughout the hospital, dodging and ducking and luring them down dead-ends that only she knew the way out of. At one point, when she was certain she wasn't being followed too closely, she dumped the wig in the hamper of a cleaning cart and made a bee-line for the rendezvous.

No, it was an unexplainable feeling that something was going terribly wrong. The chatter on the walkies had all but stopped from Hughes and she'd lost contact with Term and Ducks awhile ago. Even Tom and Pandora were unusually quiet... and that disturbed her the most.

For once caution took over, and instead of her barreling blindly out of the stairs into the garage, she hesitated and glanced out of the small window in the door. It looked like everyone had made it; they were all standing around, facing a familiar form. She broke out in a grin and almost dashed out to tackle Siddo in a big bear hug. With him there, they'd be sure to make it out without having to come up with bail money.

Except something wasn't quite right about the scene. Tom was pointing his gun at Sidney, and everyone looked scared and pissed. Heist couldn't see Pandora well though; just a patch of curly hair and a part of her shoulder, but it looked like she was using her own body as a shield between Tom and Sid. _Tsk, tempers_, she thought. Tom and Sid probably had a communications malfunction and Pandora was playing peace-maker. _Well_, Heist thought as she grabbed the bar to push open the door, _at least Pandora will knock reason into both their heads. Literally, if she has to._

As she started to step out, she caught a better view and forgot how to breathe. What the bloody hell?!

o0o0o

Ed felt cold. Unlike previous evenings, the temperature after sunset had dropped considerably. Bond had his hand wrapped firmly around Reilly's throat with a small gun leveled at her head. Even so, the small weapon was nothing compared to what he could do with his alchemy. Ed had seen the devastation caused by those transmutations, he knew what Bond was capable of. Reilly looked tense, her eyes declaring plainly that she'd sacrifice herself before letting anyone else be hurt. A few feet away, Tom stood with his own gun leveled. He appeared relaxed, but there was tension in the line of his shoulders. He was ready to move the instant an opening presented itself. Al and Ducky were closest to Ed, the older of the two seconds away from a nervous meltdown, and if things weren't resolved soon, he was bound to do something stupid. As for Al, he was still as a stone, his eyes riveted on the scene before him. The smirk on Bond's face told Ed he'd purposely allowed them all to soak in the situation, to see it from all angles.

Without a doubt, he had the upper hand. And the really frightening thing was, prior experience showed Bond wasn't afraid of making a scene. They couldn't count on random passerby to provide a distraction, Bond would just kill them too.

"You see how it is, don't you Fullmetal? Everything is in place--" Bond's grip on Reilly's throat tightened and he turned his gun on Ed. "**Don't**... even consider it."

Ed slowly moved his hands apart and his eyes shifted around the group again. The assassin's position gave him a clear view of everything. When Ed glanced at Tom, he saw that the older man was looking at him.

Tom gave a minute shake of his head. _'Don't be rash--'_

Ed lowered his brows, returning his attention back to Bond, whose smile had been replaced by a look of false compassion. It stank of rotting meat.

Silence.

Eyes strained from staring, fingers stiff from clenching. A drop of sweat rolled and dropped. The heat was rising again. The electricity in the air pulsed like a plucked chord, humming through the teeth.

It had to break soon...

It had to break...


	27. Ch 23b All This And a Bag of Chips

**"All This and a Bag of Chips"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Three**

**PART TWO**

**Balance of Power**

_No way!_ Heist thought, even as the truth sank its sharp teeth into her brain and coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach. _Why? Whywhywhy?!_ Tears started to sting her eyes as the realization of Sidney's betrayal became more solid. She felt sick and scared. What had she done? _Stupid, Heist. You're so damned stupid._

Shame burned her, and the temptation to just slink back into the stairwell and hide was overwhelming. Maybe if she became MIA long enough, they'd all get away safely and write her off as a casualty of war. The Gods knew that she would probably only make matters worse if she tried to help out now...

Except she couldn't move. Her heart pounded and black spots formed at the edge of her vision from the lack of oxygen and she forced herself to breathe again.

It was all so unreal; everything was moving through molasses, as Ed's hands twitched and Sidney swung his gun from Pandora's throat to point at him.

"Even this world is infatuated with guns. Yet unrefined as they might be, Fullmetal, they are still very effective," Sidney was saying to Ed.

"What do you expect us to do, Bond? Just let you walk out of here with Hughes and the boys?" Tom asked.

Ed's eyes darted to her, then came instantly back to Sidney. Heist didn't think the other man had noticed, but she knew Ed knew she was there.

"No, you pathetic fool. I expect you -- all of you -- to die." Sidney leveled the gun towards the van, and Ducky and Tom ducked...

...And Heist went from fear and shame to pure rage. Rage at Sidney for betraying her when all she'd ever done was try to help him out, and at herself for being played for a fool. Her hand clenched tightly on the walkie and she gritted her teeth. She hoped she'd at least read correctly what she saw in Term's eyes as she wound up for a strong fast-ball pitch.

o0o0o

"Gnuuh!"

Ed slapped his hands together the second Heist's walkie-talkie slammed into Bond's temple. The distraction was very, very brief... but it was long enough. A flash of transmutation, and Ed lunged, slicing Bond's gun in half at the handle. In the same move, he shoved Reilly aside with his left hand. She hit the ground heavily, rolling away from the struggle as Ed ducked under Bond's swinging fist. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to dodge the knee that caught him under the ribs. Grunting, he grasped his middle, coughing. He felt Bond take advantage of his brief weakness to slam the broken handle of the gun into his shoulder. Luckily, Bond had chosen the right side, and Ed was able to dodge before Bond recovered from the stun of metal on metal. Rolling to the side, he gathered his feet beneath himself and launched his body at Bond, slamming him with his automail shoulder.

Bond didn't stumble as he'd hoped. Instead, the older man wrapped his hands around Ed's skull and squeezed. Digging his fingers into Bond's wrists, Ed felt himself starting to black out. Suddenly Ed heard the concussion of a weapon firing just as Bond released him and jumped back. Blinking rapidly, he looked around to see Tom lining up for another shot. Turning back to Bond, he saw that the other man had crouched down and drawn a circle on the side of a car. Then grinning smugly, he slapped one hand on the symbol. With a flash of golden light, he pulled something long and slender from the side of the car.

Realizing what had been transmuted, Ed leaped forward, tackling Tom as he ran forward, apparently to try for a cleaner shot -- seconds before Bond raked the area with a newly created sub-machine gun.

Ed could feel tiny stones pepper his face as the bullets kicked them up in passing. Still hanging onto the older man, Ed threw the both of them behind a lime green truck. Glancing around, he was relieved to see everyone else had scattered out of harm's way. Looking back at Bond, Ed could see the man fiddling with something on his wrist. With hideous premonition, Ed gasped, lurching to his feet. He barely registered Tom's hand as it grasped for his ankle. Tearing away, he started to charge for the renegade alchemist, but the blink of red from the roof of the van brought him up short. _Spider-bomb_, he thought, remembering the description Hughes had given him of the weapon that had killed Kitten. He didn't need to be a genius to comprehend just how devastating that weapon would be if it went off, and what the bomb didn't destroy, the resultant damage to the garage and its proximity to the hospital would finish. _The bastard means to take out as many people as he can._

o0o0o

Maes hadn't bothered to wait long enough to find out what, exactly, Bond was transmuting. After seeing some of the devastation the assassin had wreaked, it was more prudent to take cover first and ask questions later. Diving for the moderate safety of a nearby SUV, he scooped Al up on his way. He'd misestimated his trajectory, though, and hit hard on his bad shoulder, rolled and lurched up with a howl into a squat with his back slamming into the knobby, oversized tires of a pick-up truck. He panted and swallowed down the rising nausea and tried valiantly to remain conscious through the exquisite pain, and barely registered that Al was helping him further toward the front end of the truck for better cover.

"Stay here, Mr. Hughes," Al said as he helped the man lean against the other tire of the truck and ducking a hail of ricocheting bullets.

"Al, I--" Maes choked and the nausea surged anew, but for a different cause. Just past Al's shoulder, Maes could see the roof of the ninjavan... and the red eyes of a spider-bomb blinking out, one by one. "...oh hell," he whispered. Gruesome images of Kitten flashed through his memory, and Maes gagged. Beating down the urge to empty his stomach on the floor of the garage -- _there isn't time for this_ -- he came painfully to his feet. "Al, the roof! There's a bomb on the roof of the van. Help me get everyone under cover," he ground out weakly.

Al whipped around and looked up, just as another eye clicked shut on a metallic spider, then he made to dart toward the vehicle, but Maes frantically dragged the wriggling, kicking boy away with one arm. "It's going to blow us all to hell, Al! Get away!" he yelled.

"Lemme go, Mr. Hughes! I can take care of this!"

"You can't do anything to stop it! He's probably got an alchemic failsafe in there again!"

"You should listen to your elders, Alphonse Elric," Bond shouted from his spot in the drive of the garage. "Your friend here has witnessed just how spectacularly my little toys do what I tell them to."

As Maes stumbled out from his cover, the assassin came into view and the arrogance on Bond's face infuriated him.

"Rumour has it," Bond continued, smirking at Maes, "that if it weren't for you witnessing her demise, no one would have been able to identify the girl... Kitten, wasn't it?"

Off to the side, Maes heard a strangled sob and spared a quick glance over at Heist, who was treading closer to the rest of the group as though in a trance. "Don't--"

"You killed Kitten?" she choked as tears rolled freely from eyes that were too large for her pale, bloodless face.

"The only use of a pawn is for sacrifice, my dear," Bond said. "And she fulfilled her purpose beautifully."

Maes barely heard her whisper, "_Bastard_," but the suddenly clenched fists and jaw was warning enough.

She launched herself at Bond as he brought the machine gun up and aimed.

Maes knew he'd never make it to her in time to keep her from being murdered and shaking with impotent fury, he slammed his eyes shut and turned his head. He couldn't bear seeing yet another young life ended by that insane son of a bitch... and a resolution had begun to settle deep in his gut.

The impending rain of bullets never came though, and Maes spared a glance to see that Ed had put himself between the assassin and Heist. _Because he knows Bond needs him alive. _And as dangerous as it was to put him in a foul mood, Maes couldn't help relishing the supreme irritation on Bond's face.

"You're proud of that?" Ed said, disgusted and disbelieving, and taking the focus off Heist. "Kitten was nothing to you."

"Oh, I am, Fullmetal. I am. That spider was a work of art, as was the explosion it caused. Of course it wasn't nearly as breath-taking as the complete and total elimination of Ms. Reilly's little world." Bond shot a cold smile at Reilly, and said, "How does it feel to lose every precious memory of your entire life; to suddenly find yourself bereft of home and hearth?"

"Why?" Reilly whispered. "What did I do to you?"

"You interfered with my plans, Mary Reilly. And you annoy me."

"What do you want, Stealthworks?" Maes snapped.

"Why simply to go home," Bond said, then he pointed the machine gun at Ed, then Al and Maes. "And you three are going to help me achieve that goal."

"What guarantee do we have that you'll disable the bomb if we go with you?" Ed asked.

"None," Maes said, bitterly. "But if we don't go, it's a sure bet he _will_ blow this hospital up."

"Very astute, General Hughes. I can see you earned your _posthumous_ promotion," Bond sneered.

Next to Maes, Al shifted and tensed, ready to pounce. Every parental instinct within the older man wanted to order the boy to stand down; there were plenty of adults here to deal with the situation. Except... while Reilly might be able to think on her feet under most circumstances, this was out of her abilities; any move she made right now would get her killed and she was wise enough to know that. Heist and Ducky had great minds for technology, but zero skills in dealing with trained assassins from either world. Besides, Heist was out of the game anyway. A darting glance told Maes she'd moved in closer to the rest of the group, and she was seeking comfort from her childhood friend, if the death-grip she had on his arm was any indication. That left himself and Tom. Both old soldiers, both spent time in Intelligence, and neither of them were squeamish about killing the bastard in front of them.

Provided they could get the drop on Bond and both take him out together. An incredibly difficult task under the best of circumstances.

Their eyes met briefly over the ten feet that separated them and Maes knew from the grim set of the old man's lips, that Tom had been running the odds through his mind as well, and he'd come to the exact same conclusion...

...they were all in over their heads.

It was going to be left to Al and Ed. Children, who hadn't been children for a very, very long time. But these were Elrics; every bit as brilliant and capable of pulling miracles out of their asses The only thing he and Tom could do, would be to provide back-up and support.

And if those boys couldn't save the day? Well, they were all already dead anyway, weren't they?

"You want me to open a Gate," Ed said, amazingly calm. "I can't do that. I'm not like you, Bond; I don't go around killing people."

"Indeed?" Bond leveled the machine gun at Heist once more, and sounded almost convincingly contrite as he said, "My sincerest apologies, Dear, but I need your assistance one last time." Then his finger tensed on the trigger while Heist remained rooted to the spot, too terrified to move.

"Don't!" Ed blurted. When Bond turned his attention back to the younger alchemist, Ed said, "Don't. I--I'll do it. Just... don't kill my friends."

Al slipped away while Bond wasn't looking, and Maes assumed he was creeping toward the van while his older brother was negotiating with the assassin. A quick glance around assured Maes that the rest of the group knew what was going on and were making every effort to pretend like nothing was going on. Even Ducky seemed more concerned about Heist and was doing a damn fine job of not reacting.

Bond considered Ed for a moment, never wavering in his aim at Heist, then he laughed once, a bitter, barking sound. "I don't believe you, Fullmetal." Then he faced Heist and squeezed the trigger.

Everything happened at once. As bullets strafed toward her, Ducky cried out and bulled Heist to the ground, rolling them both under a nearby sedan. At the same time Ed clapped and transmuted his automail arm, and with a wordless shout, lunged at Bond. Reilly dove for cover under a truck behind the assassin, and Tom found a compact to hide behind that would also give him a fairly clear shot... provided Ed managed to get out of the way.

Maes stumbled back to his previous cover by the off-road truck, and caught sight of Al as he -- lightly, silently -- jumped up the front of the ninjavan then to the roof where the spider rested. He softly clapped his hands, and rested them against the weapon's brushed metal back. White designs flashed across the exterior, brightened, then faded and settled to the muted red of glowing embers. As the spider arose off the van with a hiss of steam, Al looked back at Maes with a hell-bent grin. "_I'm_ an Alchemy NINJA," he mouthed.

o0o0o

Ed had his right hand balled into a tight fist and was about to deal a blow that would -- hopefully -- disable Bond, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye above and just out of the assassin's view. The distraction lasted only an instant, but it was enough for the rogue alchemist to get him into a choke-hold. As his vision crept into black, the object moved into full view and Ed stopped struggling. It was just enough and with an exhaled breath, he clenched Bond's wrist, twisted and whirled then jumped back.

The other man sneered arrogantly as he stumbled then quickly regained his footing and reached for his wrist. "You fight well, Fullmetal. Too bad you're--" That was when Bond blinked and glared down at his bare wrist. The only sign that his confidence was shaken was a quick scan with only his eyes over the floor of the garage.

Ed chuckled and dangled the stolen watch between his thumb and forefinger. "Looking for this, asshole?"

Bond snarled and took a step toward Ed, but stopped and a slow, cold smile spread across his face. "Nice work," he said, then gestured with a thumb at the van. "Too bad your attention-span is as short as you are."

Instead of Ed's usual tantrum at the short comment, the young man allowed his arrogant smirk to grow into a huge, triumphant grin.

"You really shouldn't make fun of my brother's height," Al said from his perch on the roof. "He gets upset and then bad things happen to people who tease him like that."

Bond spun, but he never had the chance to look up. He saw the spider just as it leaped from the side of the vehicle and attached itself to him with a hiss and the reek of singed flesh. With an anguished scream, Bond struggled to tear the bomb from his face and chest as he flailed backwards, whirling and falling into a shiny, new SUV.

Ed stared, stunned. He'd never expected his gentle little brother to do something quite so vindictive. He was going to have a talk with him when things calmed down.

A slap on his back and the yanking of his collar broke the spell, as Tom dragged him and nearly tossed him into the van. "Let's go. Now!" he ordered over the rising wail of police sirens.

Ed scrambled to get to the back as the rest of the gang piled in and had barely managed to climb into the far back seat with Al and Heist when he was hurled the rest of the way as the van took off with a screech of burning rubber.

o0o0o

As the ninjavan cleared the hospital parking lot and tore into the street, Ducky whooped loud enough to make Tom sitting in the passenger seat next to him wince. "We did it! Wediditwedidit**WEFUCKINGDIDIT**!"

"Save the celebration 'till we get to Amber's," Tom said as he hit the speed dial on his cell. "And do you think you could drive like we're _not_ the Dukes of Hazzard?"

Ducky forced his foot to ease off the gas and cast a glance at the side-mirror. The buildings all around them were lit with a whirling, crazy strobing of red and blue, but nothing emerged from the lot they'd just exited. As far as he was concerned, they'd succeeded, and it was going to be easy-peasy on the home-stretch.

"Yeah, Amber," he heard Tom saying.

A glance into the rear view showed Ducky that everyone was getting settled. No one looked any worse for wear, although they all looked ragged and worn. Reilly was the only one left not in a seat, but she was busy helping Maes get buckled in. The man had banged his bad shoulder some time during the fracas, and now he was sweaty and ashen. His eyes were closed and Ducky thought he might be a bit green about the gills. He genuinely hoped Maes wasn't in too bad of shape… and he also wondered if he had anything on the off-hand chance the man blew chunks. He certainly looked about ready to.

"We're on our way," Tom said. "Anything you need?"

All the way in the back, Ed and Al were forehead to forehead and talking to each other low enough no one else could hear. Even in the reflected kaleidoscope of light from the police cars' bubbles creating a dizzying bright and dark that bounced off the interior of the ninjavan, Ducky could tell Terminator Jr. was pale and drawn. The alchemy-fu the kid used was as awesome as his brother's, but it took a lot out of him.

"No. No. Looks like we all made it through without too much damage. Might want Alden to take a look at Maes to make sure he didn't damage his shoulder any worse."

It had always amazed Ducky just how many emotions could play on Ed's face at the same time and now was no different. The kid looked excited and relieved to be reunited with his brother, but at the same time he was deeply worried. What amazed him (and he knew it shouldn't, considering), was just how much Al was like his older brother in that aspect. _They're worried more about each other, than themselves._

"So what's the word?" Ducky caught a glimpse of furrowed brows on the older man beside him as he listened. "You sure? We're going to be able to get all the way down there without some local yokel trying to make a name for himself?"

Ducky checked the road ahead of them again, then the side mirror to see they still weren't being followed, then his eyes flicked to the far right corner of the rear view and Heist. She was sitting sideways in the back bench, next to Ed and Al, and watching out through the back window. He couldn't see her face, but she was jammed as far into that corner as she could get with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms were hugging them tightly. She was perfectly still, and that was a bad sign. She was taking the news about Kitten as hard as he'd expected. He also wondered just what Bond had meant when he said he needed her assistance one last time. In the end it didn't matter, as far as he was concerned. She'd saved the day with that massively kick-ass pitch of her walkie at Baldy's head.

"Shit!"

At Tom's explosion, Ducky's eyes snapped back to the front and he instinctively slammed on the brakes. Reilly was thrown off-balance and fell into the back of his seat, shoving him into the steering wheel. He could hear Maes groan in pain from the belt snapping against his shoulder and three distinct thumps of bodies hitting the floorboards all the way in the back along with muttered curses.

What he was more concerned with, however, were the two cop cars that had screeched to a halt at the end of the narrow street and were currently blocking their escape. "Oh, Hell. Now what?"

"Amber, I don't think these guys got the memo!" Tom shouted into the cellphone as Ducky threw the van into reverse and barked the tires going backwards. He hit the brakes as he spun the wheel and flipped it around, kicked it back into drive, and bulleted for the next intersection.

Ducky barely had time to avoid a collision when two more cop cars barreled out of the hospital lot. "Dammit!" He gritted his teeth and slammed his foot into the accelerator, ignoring the startled protests of the rest of the passengers. Yanking the wheel to the right and unbalancing everyone once more, he swerved and squeaked past the second attempted blockade. He winced at the thump and metallic screech as the passenger side hopped onto the curb, then dropped back down with a thud.

He pushed the gas pedal harder in the straight-away, and heard Heist blurt, "Holy Chinoles! That was impressive!"

A glance in the side mirror showed that one of the cops had managed to get turned around and was giving chase. "We got company!"

Tom was shouting into the phone at Amber, and Maes was in the middle of an argument with Reilly about whether they should just stop now and give up until this whole mess could be straightened out. Ed, naturally, had more than a few colorful words about that idea, to which Reilly alternated between shouting at him to shut up and taking his side as she argued with Maes. Ducky didn't say a thing, but wished they'd all just chill so he could concentrate.

"Cooperate until Amber can take care of it," Tom snapped.

"Bullshit!"

"Brother, we can't fight them."

Ducky didn't slow down.

"You in the black van," one of the officers bellowed over the loud-speaker. They were close enough that the man probably didn't need the bullhorn, but apparently if the budget paid for it, he had to use it, no matter how painful it was to everyone else. "Pull over now! We know you've got the kid. Let him go, and it'll go a lot easier on you."

"What the hell?"

"They think I kidnapped my own brother?!"

"Tom," Reilly said, her voice wavering. "If Al gets separated from us, he'll get lost in the system, and then even Amber won't be able to find him."

"You're kidding, right?" Ducky asked, as he darted through a red light, barely avoiding getting t-boned by a sports car.

The grim set to Tom's mouth told him that she wasn't.

Ed started to launch himself through the center of the van, but Al yanked him back down with a strength that surprised the hacker. "Brother, wait."

"They're not separating us, Al."

Ed was struggling to get free of the smaller Elric's grasp, but Reilly reached back and cuffed him across the cheek. "Park your ass and shut up, Ed!"

The flash of light from the explosion lit up the inside of the van an instant before they heard the deafening thunder clap. Ducky reacted instinctively and slammed on the brakes and the concussion was strong enough when it reached them, that it lifted the back of the van, shoved it twenty feet further before it dropped it with a rattle and protest of strained suspension. Silence rang through the vehicle as everyone digested what, exactly, had just occurred. Casting a quick glance in the side mirror once more, Ducky saw the cops spin and tear back toward the hospital, and then heard Tom softly say, "Let's go before they change their minds."

Ducky swallowed, nodded and hit the gas.

"You're a Goddess, Amber," Tom said into the phone, sounding incredibly relieved.

"Tom, Old Chap, give that woman a big sloppy smooch for me," Ducky said, in a failed attempt to lighten the mood. Instead it came out squeeky and shaky.

"We'll get her a bottle of good scotch instead," Tom said, as he closed the phone and fell back in the seat with his eyes closed.

o0o0o

**June 4, 2006 -- 2:07 am**

**Rose Hill, Kansas**

Amber poured two highball glasses of scotch, then shoved one across the table to the grey-haired man on the other side. Tom was a young 60, but the dark rings under his eyes and the heavy creases around his mouth made him look so much older. Still, he was holding up rather well, under the circumstances. "You look like you need this," she said.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the sound of a hiss. At the far end of the kitchen, the green-eyed man named Maes Hughes was straddling a chair with his arms crossed over the back of it and his shirt missing. Behind him, her husband was replacing the pulled stitches on his back. She held up the bottle, a silent offer.

Hughes considered it a moment, then nodded. "Maybe it'll--" he winced and grunted as Alden jerked his hand back, adding another stitch to his tender back "--deaden the pain."

Amber poured him a shot, then crossed the room to give it to him. "Either that, or you just won't care."

"Whatever works," Hughes said, then knocked back the shot with a grimace. "Smooth," he said.

"Aye," Alden said, "ye made a good choice." A poke with the needle elicited another gasp and grunt from Hughes. "Although," Alden continued, "I don' think I'll be askin' just how ye managed to get yer hands on this after the liquor stores were all closed."

"Good idea."

Amber was curious about other things, though. The call she'd received before the ragged group arrived had only raised more questions and concerns. Bond was alive and in critical condition, with burns over his face, chest and arms that would leave scars. If he lived. He was currently under guard and unconscious, but the prognosis was uncertain at this point.

The bomb squad had arrived in time to dislodge the bizarre weapon off of him, along with quite a bit of flesh. Unfortunately, time was of the essence and they didn't have the tools or the opportunity to use delicacy. As it was, they'd only managed to sandbag a bunker around the thing just before it blew. The structural damage was minimal, but one of the officers lost his life from flying shrapnel when he was unable to get enough distance before it exploded.

Preliminary reports indicated that this explosive was similar to others that had occurred around the mid-west over the past few months. Which meant that they couldn't identify the catalyst, or any of the components for that matter. At least we know who's responsible now.

She turned her attention back to Tom. He'd be able to fill in the blanks, she was sure. The problem was, would any of it make any sense? The more she learned about the situation involving her old protege, the stranger things became.

With the exception of Hughes and Tom, the motley mob that had arrived on her doorstep were scattered throughout the house, comatose from physical and mental exhaustion. It was just as well. The quiet would help. "So, start from the beginning."

Tom downed his drink without a wince and said, "It's a long story."

"We have all night, dear."

-----------

**June 4, 1919 - 11:47 am**

**Central City, Amestris**

Roy slipped into a seat at a small table tucked away in a corner of the cafe patio. He'd seen Schiezska safely off early this morning and now it was merely a waiting game. He choked off a yawn when the waiter arrived with the menu and shot him an apologetic glance. When he was alone once more, he attempted to look over today's selection. Unfortunately the list blurred into a single amorphous blob.

He'd been spending far too many nights with insomnia as company, unable to pinpoint why he'd been feeling so anxious of late -- and when he did sleep, it was fitfully; filled with disturbing images that were forgotten the moment he opened his eyes, but left a residue of heartbreak, fear and restiveness.

He yawned again and pulled at his right glove to take it off, but paused with his hands touching. A flash of a polished bronze pony tail whipped in the wake of the small form darting off through the crowd along the boulevard. Roy blinked and tried to focus, but by then the figure had disappeared. Writing it off as a result of sleep deprivation, he pulled both gloves off, and picked up the menu again.

He sensed someone near and peered over the top of the menu just as a lovely woman with a voluptuous hour-glass figure and thick, raven-black hair settled in the seat across the table from him. She dropped an enormous shoulder bag on the patio next to her feet, and gave him a cat-in-the-cream look.

"Muriel," he said, as a genuine smile formed.

"Hello, Roy," she responded with a purr. "I see you took my recommendation for lunch."

He set the menu aside and propped his chin on his folded hands. "You always did have impeccable taste, Dear."

"Of course. I dated you, didn't I?"

Roy cocked a brow and smirked. "Careful there. You'll give me a swelled head."

"Roy Mustang?" she said with feigned shock, "Humble and modest?" She leaned forward, giving him a lovely view of cleavage. "Who are you, and what have you done with the notorious Flame Alchemist?"

He waved off the joke with a chuckle. "Those days are long gone, Muriel."

She arched a brow as she sat back. "Disturbing." Then she leaned down and rifled through her bag and came back up with a manila folder thick with reports. She passed it over to him and said, "That's everything, Lovey. I won't ask why all the secrecy, but none of this is classified information."

He took the folder and scanned the contents quickly. He'd read it more thoroughly later, when he was at home, but for now he wanted to get an idea of what he might be dealing with. "So how are things at the Geological Society?"

"Same ol', same ol'," she said. "We look forward to things getting a little shook up once in awhile." She nodded at the folder. "Those are all the little tremors we've had over the past six months. A lot of the information is pretty sketchy, though. Most of the reported epicenters were out in the wilderness, after all. So it's hearsay information from people who just happened to be in the area when they occurred."

"Between Lior and Ishbal, outside of Rush Valley... Risembool? What was the damage to that one?" Roy asked as he skimmed the report. He found what he was looking for and felt the blood drain from his face. "Am I reading the latitude and longitude correctly? This was about a kilometer south-west of the town?"

"Yeah. No appreciable damage," Muriel said. "There was a house there once, apparently, but it had burned down a few years ago, and no one lives there now."

Roy clenched his jaw, and tried to will his heart-rate to slow. "Did you find the book I asked for?"

"Just waiting for you to ask," she said as she leaned down again and dug in the shoulder bag. She tossed a thick tome onto the table, knocking a layer of dust from the cover and into the air. "What you want with an old anthropology book, though..."

Roy took her hand and brought it to his lips. With a wicked grin, he said, "Weren't you the one who suggested that I would be far more interesting if I would only expand my interests beyond alchemy?"

Muriel winced then chortled. "Leave it to you to make my words come back and bite me in the ass."

"And such a lovely one at that."

The rest of the lunch moved on to lighter subjects and gentle flirting. By the time they'd parted company, though, Roy's mind was back on the files and the book. Anthropology wasn't the entire description. The subject was more refined than that. The book was a little known treatise about some rather ancient religions, and if what Roy suspected was true, those old religions might be able to tell him why tremors had been occurring in the places they have.

He fingered a silver watch in his pocket that wasn't his, and strolled back to work, feeling lighter than he had in the past couple weeks.

o0o0o

o0o0o

_**Fic 'Contest' - FMA - Balance of Power**_

The Cracked Bunnies would like to thank all of you who stuck with us and waited patiently while we battled Real Life and got back on track with our Fullmetal Alchemist story, "Balance of Power"... But, we're all poor, so buying each of you a new Porsche is out.

Sorry, guys.

Anyhow, we came up with an idea that wouldn't break our wallets ;)

We're going to tell you a big secret, and then let you run with it. Okay, okay, it's not that big. In fact, it's probably no secret at all. But it is kind of a spoiler -- even if y'all saw it coming.

As you probably guessed, Bond is not out of the story yet -- and won't be for a long time to come (Hey, we can't kill off the best bad-guy ever created, can we?).

Sooooo...

Chapter 25 is going to be all about being on the run and eluding James Sidney Bond, the Stealthworks Alchemist. And we want to see what **you** can come up with.

Summary: Ed, Al and Hughes are in early 21st century Middle America, and they're on the run from a rogue alchemist who wants to use them to open a Gate and get him back home.

They are accompanied by a group of bizarre individuals, named Reilly, Tom, Ducky and Heist.

This takes place between mid June and late August.

The story can be about almost anything, as long as the above elements are included somehow. Hell, you can just write a scene where Ed and Al suffer a dose of culture shock, if you want. Or you can write a scene where they encounter Bond and narrowly make their escape.

Just... Don't kill off any of the main characters, please! We need them to complete BoP ;)

Make it angsty, make it funny, make it scary... Just make it no higher than PG13, please.

The best will become part of Chapter 25. Honorable Mentions will be highlighted in the CrackFic community and cross-posted all over creation, and no one who enters will be left out.

Send your submissions to: **cbsyndrome (at) gmail (dot) com**, and make the subject line: _"ch 25 submission"_

And most importantly: If you are on LiveJournal, Make sure you include your LJ username, so we can give proper credit! No user name, no post. Same goes with user name. (If you're on both, give us both, so when we post the chapter on we can use the right name.)

**Rating** - PG13 or lower  
**Word Length** - limit 1000 words  
**Deadline** - November 1st

Make sure you spell check and grammar check!!!

And please don't post your entry elsewhere until the contest ends. We want them all to be a surprise!

If you have any questions, don't hesitate to email the Story Coordinator at: **harris (dot) lorrie (at) gmail (dot) com**, and she will be happy to answer.


	28. Ch 24a The Pattern of a Tangled Web

**"The Pattern of a Tangled Web"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Balance of Power**

Part One

**June 5, 2006 -- 8:42am**

**Rose Hill, Kansas **

Maes yawned as he entered the kitchen and walked, a little unsteadily, to the counter where the coffee maker stood. Reilly, already pouring for herself, observed his shaky approach and automatically filled another mug. As she slid it along the counter to him, he glanced significantly back toward the table and murmured, "Something going on I should know about?"

"I'm not sure," she whispered back. "I just got up, and this little conference was in session when I came in."

He yawned again, turning with the mug, to lean back against the counter. The 'little conference' resembled the one he and Tom had participated in last night, or rather -- Maes glanced at the big wall clock above the fridge -- this morning, not quite six hours ago. Except this time it was Ed and Al under sharp scrutiny.

For a tiny woman, Amber Branch had an intensity that rivaled Ed's. She never raised her voice, never made a threat, but the very air around her sent a message that no one wanted to piss her off. Maes had been amused last night to see Tom, the old veteran, answering her questions and giving explanations almost meekly. But once Amber had turned the interrogation to Maes himself, focusing those shrewd eyes on him and demanding answers, he'd understood Tom's deference. Amber obviously would not suffer fools gladly, and had the wherewithal to make them answer for themselves if they aroused suspicion.

This morning, she was as awake and alert as if she hadn't gone to bed a mere five or six hours ago. Calmly seated at one end of the table in the bright, roomy kitchen, she held Ed's automail wrist in her grip and peered at him speculatively. Al stood behind his brother, watching uncertainly and clutching Ducky's tool case in one hand while holding tight to Ed's shoulder with the other. At the far end of the table slouched Tom, cradling a steaming mug of coffee between his hands and looking centuries older than his sixty or so years. Maes hoped the older man had managed to grab a few hours' sleep on the couch or something.

Amber's sharp gaze locked onto Al. "Do you remember me, son?" she asked.

Interesting, Maes thought. Next to him, he felt Reilly perk up and Tom sat straighter in his seat, his eyes darting back and forth between Amber and Al.

Ed shot a shocked glance back at Al, but Maes was impressed that the only sign of Al's nervousness was a barely audible gulp before he answered. "Yes ma'am. You interviewed me because someone thought I might be a terrorist."

"What?!" Ed snapped back around and started to come to his feet, but Al's grip on his shoulder kept him sitting. "Al would never--"

"Brother," Al said, "she didn't believe it."

Amber's voice remained neutral, but Maes noticed a firmness in her shoulders and a tensing of her back, as she said, "No, I didn't. But... you didn't tell me the whole story, did you, Alphonse?"

The younger brother's head drooped a bit, and his voice went very soft. "No ma'am." Then he straightened and looked her in the eyes. "There was a good reason though."

"I'm sure you believed that at the time," Amber said. "But look at it from my point of view. You weren't completely honest with me then, how do I know you're telling me everything now?"

Al's composure started to crack. He stammered, gaze skating desperately over everyone else in the room in an attempt to garner help from someone who could back him up. Maes felt for the boy. He was familiar with what Amber was doing; had used that tactic himself in interrogations -- in another world... before I died. He also knew Tom and Reilly were smart enough to keep quiet right now. Amber wanted to get the story from Ed and Al -- wanted to hear their side of it -- and she didn't need the rest of the group's input contaminating the boys' answers.

Al shook his head and the hand on his brother's shoulder went white-knuckled. Ed was, amazingly, keeping quiet at the moment, but from the clenched fist, the ram-rod straight back and the flexing muscles in his jaw, Maes knew that wouldn't last long. He wanted to step in, to tell Amber to back off a bit, but he didn't dare. Too much depended on the Elrics' uncompromised testimony.

"Please believe us, Mrs. Branch," Al said softly. "We don't have any reason to leave anything out, now."

Amber regarded the younger boy for a long moment, never revealing anything of what she was thinking. Finally she said, "We'll see." Then she focused on Ed. "So let me understand," she said. "This… other dimension, this other world you supposedly come from... there's some sort of nifty little gate connecting it to our world. And you two, your friend Hughes, and Bond, managed to just... fall through it?"

"It's a bit more complicated, but that's as good a description as any," Ed nodded.

She pushed his sleeve further up his arm, revealing more of the automail. "And this alternate dimension is technologically advanced enough to create prosthetics like this, but not advanced enough to use a lighter weight material. And computer chips aren't even so much as a figment of their imaginations? Not to mention they're capable of creating explosive devices that no one in forensics can even begin to identify."

_She was just as skeptical last night_, Maes recalled. He took a sip from his mug, then set it on the counter.

"We advanced with alchemy," Ed said.

"I did warn you it was hard to believe," Tom reminded her.

"Hard," Amber released the arm and rubbed at her temples. "Or maybe make that impossible."

"If you want," Al began, "we could do a small demonstra-- "

The back door opened at that moment, and almost as one, the five reluctant adventurers swiveled in alarm to face it. Tom and Ed surged to their feet, and Maes tensed, nudging Reilly behind him with one hand while reaching automatically for a throwing knife with the other. His hand was under the edge of his shirt before he remembered, for the hundredth time, that his weapons of choice were an entire world away, buried in an empty coffin.

Whoever he feared might be coming in couldn't have shocked him more than the person who stepped into the kitchen, still wearing scrubs from the night shift at the hospital. Llyn Quennel stopped abruptly, letting his stuffed back-pack drop to the floor with a muffled _thump_, as he registered the virtual wall of staring strangers. "Mam...?" he ventured uncertainly. "Why do you have so much company, so early?" His dark eyes moved from one face to another, passing over Maes but darting back in a double take. "It's you!" he exclaimed, his shock obviously matching Maes' own.

"Excuse me?" For once, Amber was thoroughly nonplussed, looking from one man to the other. The situation, Maes was certain, was getting more bizarre by the moment for her. "Llyn, do you actually know these people?"

"Well no, not really, just..." Llyn frowned. "Holland, was it? No, that's not right, you're-- "

"Maes Hughes. Good to see you again." Maes glanced at the two brothers, and fought down a sudden urge to burst out laughing. The succession of reactions passing across their faces as they realized who the newcomer reminded them of was almost comical. But he dragged his mind back to the business at hand. "Amber, I seem to have had the pleasure of being stitched up by half your family in the last few days. Got any more doctors hiding in a cupboard somewhere?"

"And just how did you find yourself being stitched up by my son?" she demanded.

"It was the cursed man." Llyn's words were clipped, his face tight. "Don't you remember I phoned you about him, mam? He blew up a car, killed a girl, injured another quite badly. Hol-- Hughes was running from him and I helped him escape."

"He let me hide in his car till my friends here could find me," Maes added.

Amber continued staring at her son, thoughtfully weighing his words against everything else. "You saw something in Bond... and felt you had to save Hughes from him."

"He's a bad man," Llyn stated flatly.

She nodded, as though he'd confirmed something for her. "Well, he proved that to all of us last night."

Again the young man's eyes darted around the room, until they stopped on Maes' face. "What happened? Tell me."

Amber pulled out another chair across the table from Ed's. "We'll give you the details later. But I need a few more answers from these boys first."

Ed and Tom subsided back into their chairs as Llyn took his own seat at the table. Ed was, Maes reflected, putting up with the interrogation with remarkable patience. _Maybe he's just too tired to resent it. Or, more likely_, Maes amended as he watched Al put his hand back on his brother's shoulder and saw Ed's lips turn up in response, _it's the happiness of the reunion that's making him so mellow this morning_.

Amber returned briskly to her questions. "Just tell me one thing, Edward, Alphonse. You didn't come here to invade us? These… Gates, or whatever, they're not a security breach that I'm going to have to try and explain to my superiors? Because frankly, if I have to, I'll end up locked away in a nice padded cell."

"Mrs. Branch," Al said, "my brother and I aren't cold-blooded killers!"

"I never said you were, Alphonse."

"What Al is trying to say is it takes a sacrifice -- of sorts -- to open the Gate," Ed explained. "We ended up here by accident. All of us."

"It takes a _what_??" Amber's eyes darted from one brother to the other, voice and gaze hardening. "I think you'd better explain the 'accident', and how you 'aren't cold-blooded killers' -- or terrorists," this with an added sharp glance at Al, "even though someone apparently died to get you here."

"It was a bomb," Al said quietly. "We were trying to defuse it. We didn't succeed."

"So you were pushed through some kind of Gate into this time period... and everyone else died? Isn't that a little... convenient?"

"Do you think," Ed hissed, "that we're glad they died? They were people we were trying to help! What kind of monsters do you think we are?"

"It's just a coincidence I'm not comfortable with."

"I don't _know_ why they died and we didn't. Maybe it's because we've been through the Gate before. Maybe it's because we're alchemists–- "

"I doubt that," Maes put in. "I came through a Gate and I'm no alchemist." _Althoug_h, the sudden thought struck him,_ my coming through was connected to Bond's. People died then, too. And that happened without any input from the Elrics._

Ed glared at him. "You're not helping here. The point is that we're here, not because we killed someone, but because someone died. There's a distinction, you know."

"A very fine one sometimes," Amber replied.

"Mrs. Branch," Al turned his earnest gaze on her, "if we were the type of people who would kill someone just to get us through the Gate, we would have done it long ago. But we could never do such a thing."

_And yet_, Maes' inner commentary continued, _Bond would do exactly that. Has he been trying all this time to repeat what happened before, and get himself back?_

"Al's right," Ed went on. "If I could figure out any way of getting back through that Gate without someone dying, or giving--" Ed hesitated and passed a quick glance up at Al, who responded with a gentle squeeze on his brother's shoulder. "--or giving up something important to us, we'd be gone tomorrow. But I won't take that risk."

"From everything I've seen, Amber," Tom interjected quietly, "I believe it's the truth. These are good people."

"For what it's worth, I think so too, mam," came Llyn's unexpected endorsement.

Again Maes glanced at the young man, and found Llyn's disconcerting dark eyes fixed on his face. He lowered his gaze quickly to the floor; the guy's unnerving visage stirred too many roiling emotions to deal with at the moment.

He was saved from that concern when the weird universe he seemed to be caught in threw all of them yet another wild curve. Alden wandered into the kitchen, yawning and making a beeline for the coffee maker, when suddenly he glanced at Al, stopped short, and exclaimed, "Why, it's you, lad!"

And Al, gaping in his turn, burst out, "The red-haired doctor!"

"Oh dear god," Amber groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Not you, too."

"Al?" Ed looked from one to the other incredulously. "You know this guy, too?"

"Not really. Well yes," Al amended, "he did talk to me once at the hospital, but..."

"I was called in special," Alden supplied. "I hardly got a look at ye two boys last night, in all the rush t'find beds for everyone. How's your arm, son? And -- it was you then, was it? Who yon lot," he waved his hand vaguely at the rest of the kitchen, "were breakin' out o' that place."

"Yes, it was me," Al nodded. "It's kind of a long story."

"I'll get me coffee then first, if you don't mind. So, how _is_ your arm?"

"Much better, thanks."

Amber lifted her head, jaw set. Maes felt a rush of sympathy for her. "Is there anyone in this family," she demanded, "who _hasn't_ been privately dabbling in this situation already?"

As though in answer, there was a squealing yell from the stairwell entrance to the kitchen. "_Llyn_! _You're home_!" And a small figure burst through the doorway, hurling itself enthusiastically toward him. He barely had time to push back his chair, but he'd obviously encountered this whirlwind numerous times, for his arms were already out and he was already leaning over. In one motion he scooped up the little girl flying at him, sweeping her onto his lap and into his arms with a laugh.

"Well, good morning to you too, Lucy. I was just thinking of crawling into the fridge for my morning nap, and now you've woken me up."

"You were not," she informed him firmly, then fell abruptly silent as she realized they were surrounded by strangers.

Llyn angled his chair so the visitors could see her better. "All of you, this is Lucy, my little sister. Lucy, these are some visitors who've come to see us for a while."

Maes' breath caught, and for a single instant, the entire world dropped out from beneath his feet. A vision interposed itself over the scene: _Roy Mustang, popping by the house to pick Maes up for a meeting, responding to an insistent little girl by picking her up in his arms and chatting with her while he sat and waited for her father._

_No. Stop. __**No**_. This child might have been around the same age as Elysia, but Lucy's hair was reddish blonde rather than light brown, flying loose around her face from just having gotten out of bed. And she was smaller, finer-boned. She looked nothing like Elysia. And this was not Roy.

The girl became suddenly shy, burying her face in her brother's neck. He planted his chin on her hair and grinned at Amber over her head.

The woman reached over and brushed a few fine locks of hair from her daughter's shoulders, smiling fondly. "You look a fright, Lucy. I need to get you cleaned up and get that hair brushed before our visitors think I keep you locked in the shed overnight."

"No," the girl shook her head vehemently, her arms tightening around Llyn's neck. "Want to see Llyn."

He grinned again. "Let her have breakfast with me first. I'll bring her up when I head upstairs for my nap."

Amber pushed her chair back, and stood. "Very well. Meanwhile, I really need to think about all this. In fact... I need to make a few phone calls, if you'll excuse me. Feel free, all of you, to make yourselves some breakfast; we just stocked up yesterday."

"We'll pay for whatever supplies we use," Reilly volunteered.

The other woman waved the suggestion away. "No, no, that's not how we do things around here. Help yourself. Alden can show you where things are. Or Llyn, before he comes upstairs." She turned to leave, but not before leaning over to kiss her son on the cheek, and her daughter on the top of her head. "Have a good sleep," she told Llyn, then impaled Tom with a sharp glance. "You at least I know, Tom. Keep an eye on things till I come back down. Do not make us regret helping you."

When she was gone, Reilly leaned over and muttered in Maes' ear, "So, you ready to get out of here in a hurry if she decides we're not on the up and up?"

"We'd better plan for it," he murmured, nodding. "Maybe get Ducky and Heist woken up and fed first."

Reilly grinned in malicious anticipation. "Ducky is not going to like being got up so early. Maybe I'll send Ed to wake him."

"Well," Llyn remarked, setting Lucy on the floor and shuffling to the fridge, "Our family does seem to have become a bit...involved with all of you, haven't we?"

Reilly stirred at Maes' side, thoughtfully taking another sip of coffee. "This seems to be one of those times when a lot of separate threads are converging at one place. I wonder what the significance is."

Ed retorted, "Oh no you don't. We're not starting with that mumbo jumbo again." But even he, Maes noted, didn't speak with his usual firm certainty.

"There's nothing mystic about it," Tom said, mildly. "It's not like Wichita is a hundred miles away. And Amber works for a branch of the government." He grinned wickedly and added, "I could tell you which one, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Aye," Alden said with a chuckle. "I have privileges at most of the hospitals in t'city and they call me in to give consults on a regular basis." He nodded toward the doorway that his wife had just exited and added, "Amber travels a lot when she's on an investigation, too."

"That can't be easy on your marriage," Maes said and then stifled a laugh as he caught Reilly petulantly sticking her tongue out at Tom from the corner of his eye.

"Remind me t'show ye the garden later, Maes," Alden said with a wicked grin. "It's one of the best marital aides ever thought of... if I do say so m'self."

"So what would you like for breakfast?" asked Llyn, yawning hugely. "I'm sure we've got some of everything. Bacon and eggs? Porridge? Toast? Muffins? I'm sure we've got some of everything."

Alden, eyeing the doorway through which his wife had just exited, sighed in resignation. "I'll join ye for breakfast in a few minutes, but first I think I need to have a chat with Amber. No -- first I need that coffee." He grabbed a mug from the tree on the counter, as Reilly obligingly stepped aside to give him room. After pouring himself a cup, he tipped it back and took a sip, exhaling in deep satisfaction. "Yes. That's better," he proclaimed. He leaned over and gave his son's arm a squeeze, adding, "Good mornin', by the way. Care t'tell me why ye drove three hours to get home right after ye'r shift, rather than get some sleep first?"

Llyn's answer was a silent shrug and a mildly contrite smile.

Alden shook his head and headed out. "Ye needn't follow in my footsteps quite so studiously, son."

Llyn watched him go, and remarked, "What an interesting day it is already. Now, where were we? What do you want, Lucy?"

"I want what you want," the little girl proclaimed, still holding tightly to his hand and warily eyeing the visitors from behind one of his legs.

Reilly joined them, peering into the appliance. "Let's see what you've got. My name's Reilly, by the way, and it's nice to meet both of you; the blond one over there is Ed, and the brown one is his brother Al. We really should pay for everything, you know. You don't know how much Ed eats."

"Hey!" Ed protested. "I don't eat _that_ much."

"You do so, Brother, and you know it," Al grinned, and was rewarded with a good-natured punch on the shoulder. With Ed's flesh hand, naturally.

Maes watched them absently, but his attention returned again and again to the thing that had occurred to him during Amber's questioning. It nagged at him. Even when Ed came over and commented quietly, "Do you see who that guy _looks_ like?" Maes merely nodded absently. He picked up his mug and took another sip, staring with a frown into the dark liquid. _He's an alchemist. It happened once, even without the Elrics. If he survives his wounds and keeps trying -- __**what if Bond manages to get back to Amestris on his own??**_

o0o0o0o0o

"Brother, just go take your shower," Al said as he caught a black shirt before it hit him in the face. Like everything else that had come flying out of the duffel bag, it was ripe.

Even though the interrogation was over, his brother was still on edge and it showed plainly in his sharp, quick movement as he rifled through his clothes in the guest room they and Maes had been given when they arrived. "I'll see if Mrs. Branch has something clean to wear until we can wash these."

"It's only a couple of things, Al. I do have clean clothes, yanno."

"That would be a first," Al mumbled as he dropped the shirt into the growing pile of malodorous fabric on the floor.

"What was that?" Ed said as he glared up at the younger brother.

The duffel toppled over, spilling out balls of socks, wadded-up jeans and more smelly shirts -- along with a variety of discs, a couple of spiral notebooks and a large, thickly-bound book. With a sigh, Al knelt down to help gather the items back into the bag. The odor was stronger down here, and Al wondered just how Reilly put up with his older brother's frequently atrocious hygiene. She certainly didn't strike him as the type who would allow it. "Brother, don't you know that if you put dirty clothes in with the clean, you'll make the clean ones smell, too?"

"I'll try--" Ed snapped as he jammed a pair of jeans back into the bag "--to remember that--" A shirt was crammed in with the stabbing force of a dagger blow "--next time I have to pack shit--" In went a handful of sock-balls, and Al feared for the stitching at the bottom of the duffel "--in a hurry because someone's--" The discs were scooped together like a stack of cards and stuffed back into the bag "--coming to kill me..." Ed trailed off as he reverently lifted the book and stared at the cover.

Al gently grasped Ed's wrist and said, "Brother, I'm sure Mrs. Branch will find out that we can be trusted."

"Hope so." Ed said, distantly.

Al hadn't really paid any attention to the book when it had tumbled onto the floor. He'd assumed that it probably had something to do with whatever his brother was obsessed with at the moment. Usually physics these days, since alchemy really didn't exist here like it did back home. And finding a book on the subject that wasn't the object of derision and ridicule from him was next to impossible. But the expression of sheer agony on Ed's face alarmed him. "B-brother?"

Ed shook himself and started to stuff the book into the duffel, but Al tightened his grip on his wrist. Strangely, Ed didn't fight when he took the volume from him.

Al wasn't sure he was really seeing what he thought he saw. There was no mistaking the woman in front of the flower shop window, even though she'd gracefully aged a couple of decades in (from his point of view) mere months. Of all the technology and vernacular and tee-vees and computers and everything else he'd experienced that were completely alien to him, nothing hit him quite so hard, and made it quite so obvious that he and Brother were displaced in time, as this faded, black and white photograph. "That's... Noa," he said through tight lungs unable to get enough air.

"There's something I need to tell you," Ed said, as Al continued to gape at the photograph on the cover.

Noa's arm was around the shoulders of a youth who was sullenly glaring back at the camera through long bangs. The skin was noticeably swarthy, even within the limited shades of grey of the old photo, but the eyes that stared back at him were unusually light and terribly, terribly familiar. A thrill of something Al couldn't identify shot painfully through him and he feared the answer to the question he had to ask. "Brother," he whispered, "who is that boy?"

"My... s-son," Ed said, the word 'son' little more than a shamed hiss.

Al's vision tunneled as the impact of those two words slowly sunk in. "Son? But how--?" At a disgusted scowl from Ed, he said, "I mean, I know how. I just--" He gestured helplessly. "I guess I'm wondering... well... are you sure?"

Ed clenched his jaw and stared down at the book in his younger brother's hand, then took it back. As he slid his fingertips reverently over the photograph on the cover, he swallowed and his lips had begun to tremble. After a moment, when he got himself back under control, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

Al was agog and suddenly saw his brother in a new light. _A father! Brother is a father! Wait... Ed? A father?! Isn't this the same person who gets so obsessed he barely notices anyone, let alone girls?! Well, apparently he noticed Noa long enough to--_ Al felt himself heat up and shook the imagery away as quickly as he could, replacing it with another revelation that nearly knocked the wind out of him again. "I'm... an _uncle_!" he blurted out with a grin.

Ed glanced up, eyes wide in shock. Then a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he nodded.

"Maybe we should see if we can find him," Al said, excitedly. "You could try to contact him. Gene told me that computers and the internet are great for--" His voice fled him at Ed's stricken look before he ducked his head. "Brother?"

"He died, Al," Ed said, unable to meet his brother's gaze. "He and Noa and this world's Hughes and Gracia were killed."

"How?"

Ed shoved the book back into the bag to be buried amidst the discs and smelly clothes. "There was a war after we left. They were all sent to concentration camps." He clenched his jaw and his head dropped a little lower.

Tears sprung to Al's eyes and he swallowed. "War?"

"World War Two, Al," Maes said from the doorway of the guest room.

Al started and stared, wondering how long the man had been listening. Maes wasn't looking at Al though; he was watching Ed, a look of concern and compassion softening his green eyes.

"A _second_ World War?" Al whispered. The very sound of that was frighteningly ominous in light of the damage that remained from the first one by the time he'd joined Ed on this side of the Gate.

Maes faced Al and said, "All of Europe was involved. So was Japan, Russia and the U.S. It was the equivalent of Amestris declaring war on every country we'd ever had contact with, all at once."

Ed continued to stare at the floor as he flexed his right hand rhythmically. "We failed, Al. **I** failed."

"What do you mean?" Al asked.

"That bomb," Ed said. "Even after we destroyed all that data, someone still managed to create one... more, actually. They... they dropped two of them on Japan."

"Ed," Maes said, softly chastising, "Germany didn't drop those bombs. America did. And you couldn't possibly have prevented what happened." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I don't know if it was a good thing or not, to be honest. But I do know that the end result was a damn sight better than what could have happened if you and Al hadn't destroyed the data in Germany. You didn't fail."

Al reached out and lightly smacked Ed in his forehead, and said, "Idiot."

"What the hell was that for?"

"Because you keep feeding your pet GuiltZilla," Al said as he rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels.

"My whu--?"

Maes chuckled and waved as he wove around them and headed to the guest bathroom. "I've got dibs on the shower, boys."

Ed returned the wave absently. "'GuiltZilla'? What's that? Some kind of strange language you learned in the hospital?" He suddenly went from confusion to feigned irritation and added, "And what's with the disrespect here? They teach you that too?"

Al covered his mouth in an attempt to hide a giggle and failed spectacularly.

Ed softened at the sound and said, "It doesn't matter. I'm glad they took good care of you... and kept you safe."

There was a light knock on the door and then Amber poked her head in. "You two have showers yet?"

"No, Hughes beat us to it," Ed grumbled.

"Good! I need a small favor from you, if you will."

"Of course, Mrs. Branch," Al piped up. "Brother and I will be happy to help."

o0o0o0o0o

"'_Brother and I will be happy to help'_," Ed mocked as he stood in the center of the dilapidated barn, hands balled into fists and jammed into his hips. The bright morning sun from the open doors behind him and cutting through spaces between slats of weathered siding all around only illuminated fragments of what looked like an enormous, sleeping beast lurking in the shadow of the loft. Dust-motes and hay-flakes -- awakened after who-knew-how-long by his arrival and now floating lazily in the stale air -- sparked briefly, then faded a moment later as they passed the terminator from striped light into banded darkness. "Al, next time you feel like volunteering us for something... _don't_."

Next to him, with his arms crossed and studying the same enormous stack of broken furniture and wood scraps, stood Al. Except he didn't seem to be even the tiniest bit irritated at the work ahead of them, nor did he seem ashamed of himself for aiding their conscription into manual labor. "It's not so bad. I bet it won't take us long to move it at all."

"Are you looking at the same pile of junk that I am?" Ed spun on Al and jabbed an accusing finger back at the trash slated for the fire pit. "Small favor my ass! There's nothing small about _that_."

Al sighed and his shoulders slumped. "The Branches are being nice to us Brother. It wouldn't hurt us to be nice back."

"This isn't 'nice'. It's slavery," Ed complained as he stomped up to the pile, grasped an amputated chair leg and yanked. It came free with less effort than he'd anticipated and he stumbled backwards a few steps, then fell on his ass with a soft _whump_ that kicked up a fresh cloud of dry hay and dust that tickled his nose. The stack wobbled dangerously for a tense, breathless moment, but the tangle of broken furniture quickly stilled and both boys exhaled at the same time--

--Then Ed sneezed, and it all came crashing down with a chorus of clattering snaps and cracks and flying splinters as both boys scrambled to get out of the path of destruction.

A low chuckle drifted along the tail end of the avalanche, then a familiar voice said, "Still letting your emotions override your focus, I see."

Ed sprang to his feet and into a defensive stance as his head darted around. "Where are you, asshole?" he demanded. His gaze landed on his brother, who was calmly looking up.

Al glanced sidelong at him, then back up and silently pointed toward the loft.

Ed let his eyes follow the line from Al's finger to the sagging platform with an annoyed leer. "What the hell are you doing here?"

As a hunched form shifted in the dim space overhead, light bounced off an oval of glass and a halo of wavy, sandy hair, and illuminated half of a face that was crinkled with a wide grin. "I'm not there, I'm here."

"Stop being a smart-ass, Singer. You know what I meant."

"Then you should say what you mean."

Ed ignored the soft snicker from next to him and sneered. "Fine. What are you doing _there_?" he clarified as he fluttered a hand in the general direction of the hayloft.

"Isn't it obvious?" The light coming through the large, open doors spotlighted Singer as he unfolded himself and took a step to the edge of the loft, bringing him into stark relief. The harshness of the morning sun in contrast to the deep shadow behind him only highlighted the rumpled state of the fatigues over a faded grey t-shirt sporting a dream catcher in the center and worn jeans with fringed holes in the knees. Combined with long sandy hair hanging loose past his shoulders and bits and pieces of old straw sticking out all over him at crazed angles -- along with that insufferable grin -- the wanderer appeared more insane than Ed remembered. "Are you always this slow?"

"Are you always this damned literal?" Ed snapped. "Or do you reserve that _honor_ just for me?"

Singer bent, grabbed the straps of the olive-green duffel next to him, then gracefully leaped down. He landed so close to Ed that the younger man instinctively threw his right arm up and staggered backwards. Ignoring him, Singer faced Al and bowed. "It's good to see that you've gained your freedom, Steppin' Wolf."

"Huh?" Ed said.

Al tilted his head curiously as he examined the man in front of him, then his eyes widened and lit up as dawn struck. "You were in my room that night. Are you the one who left me the flute?"

"Wait a minute--"

Singer nodded. "Your memories were haunting your dreams. I'm surprised you even noticed that I was there."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Ed said, more insistently, but was still ignored.

"The music stopped the nightmares," Al said to Singer.

"Good."

Ed had gone from the shock of discovering that Singer had also met his brother, to irritation at being left out of the conversation, to indignation with the suspicion that he could have gotten Al out of that hospital a lot sooner -- had this psycho bothered to help. Protectively, he put himself between his brother and the interloper. "You knew where Al was all along?"

"Of course."

That was just too much. Mere anger sailed right past vexation straight to outrage and was closing fast on fury as he aimed a left hook at Singer's jaw and bellowed, "**Why the hell didn't you tell **_**me**_"

"Brother!"

Singer dodged the fist and caught it in his hand without a flinch or even a shift in his expression. "You didn't ask."

"Argh!" Ed screamed as he jerked his hand free and tangled his fingers in his hair in frustration. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Because you let me."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Ed declared, "I give up."

"That's a good start, Iron Butterfly."

"Stop calling me that!"

Singer shrugged, then faced Al. "Did he get dropped on his head too many times when he was younger?"

Al giggled, then choked it off when Ed shot him an acid glare. To Singer he said, "More like wrenched. Why did you give me that flute, though?"

"It told me to," Singer said as he bent over his duffel, opened it and started to reach inside.

Ed lurched forward and clamped an automail hand over the drawstrings -- effectively blocking Singer from getting his hand inside. "Can I ask you something?"

Singer cocked an amused brow at him. "You just did."

With a groan, Ed let go, straightened and scrubbed his left hand over his face. He was in no mood to talk in circles right now, but he needed answers and Singer appeared to know... something. What, Ed wasn't sure, but he intended to find out. He considered how to phrase the questions he had while Singer waited patiently with his arms crossed over his chest. The younger man quickly went through different versions and discarded them as too easy for the wanderer to twist. Then finally -- when he thought perhaps he'd formed the first one in a way Singer couldn't play games with -- he asked, "Why are you so interested in me and Al?"

"Because you're interesting."

Ed snagged the other man's collar with a flesh hand and yanked him down to his level. "But _why_ are we interesting? What reason do you have for showing up wherever we are and talking in riddles?"

Singer stared, unblinking, into Ed's eyes for a long moment. Then, too fast for the younger man to prepare, he grabbed Ed's hand and pressed his thumb into his palm. Ed's fingers went nerveless and tingly and he lost his grip on Singer's collar. Then the older man deftly bent Ed's wrist back, dropping him to his knees. "I was told to," Singer answered calmly.

Ed refused to give in. Even in his position, he kept a steady, defiant glare on the other man. "Who told you?"

"They did," Singer said as he pointed upwards with his free hand and whirled a finger.

Ed sagged in exasperation and was now convinced beyond any reasonable doubt that Singer was an escapee from an asylum somewhere. "Who is 'They'?" he asked, tiredly.

"They have no name," Singer said as he released his hold on Ed and took a step back. "They are who They are."

"Are they animal, mineral or vegetable?" Al asked as he came up beside Ed.

The older brother stood, rubbing his abused wrist and gave Al a narrow-eyed glare. "Thanks for the help," he grumbled low.

"You didn't look like you were getting your ass kicked... too badly," Al said, just as quietly.

"None... and all. They just are." Singer answered.

Ed suddenly recalled something Singer had said the last time they met. "Are they what Reilly calls the 'Shadows'?"

Al shot a questioning glance at Ed, but said nothing.

Singer nodded, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his expression patronizing. The only thing missing was a pat on the head -- and Ed would have sliced off the offending hand if Singer had even tried. This did nothing to improve his mood any, but getting an actual answer of sorts led to another question. "Are these 'Shadows' from here--" He held up a hand, knowing that he'd just asked the wrong question. "Wait. I mean, are the 'Shadows' from this plane of existence?"

"They exist in all planes and are from none of them."

Ed was suddenly breathless at the possibilities and finally getting some answers. "How do they move from plane to plane?"

Singer's smile burst into a wide grin. "The same way you do."

"The Gates," Al whispered.

"H-how do They use them?" Ed asked, fearful of the answer, but needing to know. "How do They open them?"

Singer's grin disappeared and his voice was solemn. "I can't answer that."

Ed lurched a step closer, fists balled at his sides. "Dammit! Can't or won't, Singer?"

"Can't," Al said softly, not taking his eyes off the stranger. "What can you tell us about the 'Shadows' and the Gates?"

Singer inclined his head in deference to the younger brother and said, "I can tell you much."

"What can you tell us about them, that directly concerns us?" Al rephrased.

"Better question," Singer said as he shouldered his duffel. "You learn faster than your brother does." He shifted the weight of the bag and started to step around them. He paused, glancing down at Ed before focusing on Al, and said, "I can tell you this much: You _know_--" Singer said as he tapped at his chest "--the answers already. It's a matter of how much you're willing to give up." Then he looked over his shoulder, up toward the loft, and whistled.

Disappointment washed over Ed like a bucket of cold water. _None of us wants to pay __**that**__ price._

From the darkness overhead, the raven appeared and buzzed past Ed with a raspy caw, causing him to flinch and duck. It landed on Singer's shoulder and regarded the blond with a baleful eye and a hiss, to which Ed responded with a sneer and a growl.

Singer chuckled and shook his head. "It takes a great amount of heat to make iron malleable, but eventually it takes the form that was intended for it." Then with a bow, he turned and strolled out of the barn.

With a sigh, Ed faced Al. He was expecting the same disappointment he felt on his younger brother's face, but was surprised -- and disheartened -- to see thoughtfulness and hope. "Forget it, Al," he said sadly. "You'll only make yourself miserable if you keep thinking about it."

Al blinked as he pulled himself out of his musing and said, "Maybe..."

"Don't," Ed said holding his palm up. Then he shrugged, dropped his hand and smiled sadly. "It's not so bad here, when you get used to it." He jerked his head toward the pile of junk and said, "C'mon, let's get this stuff moved. It shouldn't take long."

o0o0o0o0o

Alden gave Maes a light pat on the shoulder to let him know he was through examining his back. "Looks good."

They were in the Branches' master bedroom, where there was at least a modicum of privacy. Maes was sitting on the side of the overstuffed lounge, dressed in only a towel. He felt leagues better after a shower and a bandage change, and whatever the ointment was that the doctor had spread over his shredded back relieved the pain and growing itch. He was actually beginning to feel human again.

Alden came around and gave him a hand up, then helped strap on a flexible shoulder brace that would allow for more movement. "How does that feel?" he asked.

Maes gingerly tested his injured arm and nodded. "Much better."

"Well, I wouldn't suggest doing cartwheels, but I think ye can manage now," Alden said. "That just leaves one last thing to take care of," he added as his eyes trailed down thoughtfully.

"I hate to ask…"

"Aye, the loaning isn't the problem. It's the fit. I can find a shirt that'll work, but ye're a bit long in the leg and wide in the waist to wear my pants."

"An old pair of sweats will be fine, Alden."

"True. Except Amber won't allow them in the house." Alden crossed over to the walk-in closet and disappeared inside. "Says she expects her men to look presentable and not like slobs." Hughes could hear the other man rummaging about inside, and it sounded like he was going deeper. "And if she canna get the blood out of those scrubs, don't expect to see them again, either."

Maes gazed down at the large fluffy towel wrapped about his waist. It covered well, but the idea of being stuck in it for hours wasn't the most pleasant of prospects. It was beginning to look like he was going to be trapped in this room until Reilly could make a run to the local store to find something for him.

"Ah!" Alden exclaimed from deep inside the closet. "Hughes."

"Hmmm?"

Alden poked his head out and a grin split his face. "That's a good old Scottish name."

"Some of my family came from Caledonia. I guess that's my world's Scotland."

Alden whipped out an armful of tartan fabric. "I've a feeling 'Hughes' is a lowland name, and may not have a Scottish -- or Caledonian -- tartan. But it's a Welsh name as well, I remember. Llyn is Welsh; I adopted him when he was a wee bairn, when his parents died. I've a few of his old kilts here; perhaps ye wouldn't mind wearing something a bit more traditional."

_So Llyn was adopted_. Perhaps that explained the age difference between him and Lucy whom, Maes supposed, was Alden and Amber's biological child. "Well," he chuckled, "I suppose the ancestors won't mind if I wear a pattern that belongs to the country of our distant cousins."

Moments later, Alden was putting the finishing touches on the kilt when a knock came on the door, and then Ed stuck his head in. "Amber wanted me to tell you the scrubs are going into the bonfi--" The kid was a disaster. Grass and splinters stuck out of his hair at odd angles, and his face and clothes were filthy. The only thing recognizably _Edward_ were his enormous gold eyes, which grew wider when he caught sight of Maes. "...why the hell are you wearing a skirt?"

"It's not a skirt," Maes said. "It's called a kilt."

Ed came the rest of the way into the room and scanned the other man from head to toe a second time, a sly smile on his face. "I don't care what you call it, it's still a skirt."

There was another knock and this time Al entered, who was, remarkably, nowhere near as disheveled as his older brother. "Brother, Reilly wanted to know if you wanted to go with her to—" He stared at Maes and then broke out with a wicked grin. "Nice legs, Maes."

"Thanks."

"Does Ms. Reilly ever slow down?" Alden asked.

Both Maes and Ed answered in unison, "No."

"Then tell her that whatever she was going after can wait until morning. Doctor's orders, ye are all going t'relax tonight."

"Are we?" Maes asked, fixing sober eyes on the doctor. "For all we know, we could end up in jail or on the run again by tonight, if your wife doesn't get the answers she's looking for in those phone calls. It's hard to relax with that hanging over our heads."

Alden straightened to face him, but instead of matching Maes' sober expression, he favored him with a kind smile. "Man, ye're not to worry. It's Amber's way, to be thorough and all, but if she were going to call the authorities, ye'd be in custody already. She knows she can trust you."

"That sure wasn't how it sounded when she left us in the kitchen," Ed maintained.

"Are you absolutely positive about this?" Maes asked.

"Aye, as sure as can be. Listen to me. She trusts Tom, so that might've been enough. But ye've got Llyn on your side too, and Amber's not about to disregard the word of that boy when he speaks as he did. He scoffs at it himself, but he can See things sometimes. When he spoke on y'r behalf, that settled it." The man looked at each of them in turn. "Y'hear? Put those worries right away."

"All right," Maes said. "If you're sure. Which means that we have a lot to celebrate tonight."

"There is much to celebrate, t'be sure," Alden said, and Maes caught the look of mischief that flitted across the man's face when he regarded the boys. "In fact, ye should be getting' ready, y'selves."

"He's right," Maes said. "You two are hardly dressed for the occasion."

"Not like we have a lot of choice, Hughes," Ed said. "At least we're not wearing skirts."

"Kilts," Maes and Alden both said.

"Whatever."

"Y'see, that's the problem, boys," Alden said. He disappeared back into the closet, and came out an instant later with more tartan fabric. "Luckily, I still have some of Llyn's from when he was younger."

Ed eyed the fabric suspiciously and said, "There is no way you're getting me in that."

Al, on the other hand, was far more intrigued. "I don't know, Brother. It might be fun to wear a traditional costume for the night."

"That's the spirit," Alden said as he tossed one of the kilts to Al. As the younger brother unfolded it and held it out to inspect it, Alden added, "Of course, if ye wear traditional clothes, it must be in the traditional manner."

Al looked up at Alden, and it was all Maes could do to keep from laughing as the look on the boy's face went from puzzled to a slow dawning, followed by a creeping and brilliant shade of red. "Uh… maybe I'll pass, after all," he said as he handed the kilt back to Alden.

Ed was a beat slower on the uptake than his brother, but when it hit him the shocked expression on his face was even more priceless than Al's embarrassment. "Hughes, please tell me you're not…"

"I am."

Ed shook his head and exited the room. "I really hope it's not windy tonight."

It was Al's turn to become mischievous, as he gave Maes a look that could only be described as lecherous. "I'll bet Reilly wouldn't mind the wind at all."

He made as though to skitter out of the room after his brother, but Maes got to the door before him, clamping it shut and leaning against it, arms folded. "That does it, Alden," the man grinned narrowly, face still flushed at his own embarrassment. "Give him the kilt. He's not getting out of here till he puts it on."

Al's grey eyes widened, and Maes could see him almost visibly registering the fact that he was outnumbered. "C'mon, Maes," he pleaded, "I was just kidding."

"Don't start stalling, Al. I couldn't wrestle you to the ground when you were in that armor, but you've been sick; we're more evenly matched now. And I've got backup, even with my gimpy arm. Plus, you don't want to insult the generosity of our host, do you?"

It was a low blow, he admitted to himself; he didn't think Alden would really mind if the boys didn't wear the kilts. And at the moment, all things considered, the kid would win any wrestling match hands down. But Al's sense of courtesy and honor were Maes' trump card, and would likely override everything else.

He was right. Al turned back to Alden, still wide-eyed, and held out his hand.


	29. Ch 24b The Pattern of a Tangled Web

**"The Pattern of a Tangled Web"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Balance of Power**

Part Two

Ed stood awkwardly in front of the dryer, dripping from his recent shower and the humidity in the tight laundry room. The over-sized terry robe he wore was off his right shoulder, the sleeve hanging empty at his side. His right forearm was resting flat on a threadbare towel, the panel off, exposing the cables and bearings that enabled his automail to function. Next to him, the case of delicate tools Ducky used to maintain his computer sat open and a can of WD-40 waited as he poked around inside with a small screwdriver to find the part that was hanging and squeaking.

He could hear activity buzzing around the kitchen and out in the back yard, but he was isolated at the moment and extremely grateful for it. The robe covered him well enough, but he still felt exposed. The sleeves were long -- _too long... dammit_ -- and wide, and even though the sash was tied securely and the hem nearly hit the floor, it still gapped when he moved and had forced him to shuffle gracelessly through the rambling farmhouse with his left hand clenching the front of the robe just below the sash.

The repairs he needed to do were minor and he could have waited until Hughes and Dr. Branch released Al from whatever torture they were inflicting on him, but there would be questions and concerns if Al managed to look closely -- and he would. _There's nothing to be done for it now_, Ed thought as he paused his probing a moment and rolled his right shoulder with a grimace. _Maybe later, when we get settled somewhere and have the time_.

The door opened and Ed turned... and came face to face with his past.

"Ah, sorry, didn't mean t'startle ye," Llyn said.

As he hastily shoved his arm back into the sleeve and pulled the robe over his shoulder, Ed said, "S'okay. I was... just looking for my clothes."

Llyn cast a glance at the panel to Ed's forearm lying on the dryer, the lubricant and the tools... and the black jeans and shirt folded neatly on top of the washer, and said, "So I see." He gazed back at Ed and smiled. "Ye don' have tae hide, Edward. I already know the whole story, remember?" As he came closer, he dipped his head, gesturing at Ed's arm, and added, "Besides, it looks like ye could use another hand there."

"Thanks, but," Ed said as he instinctively curled his right hand closed and pulled his arm closer to his body, "the mechanism is complicated." Then he realized how his comment sounded, and stammered, "Uh... nothing personal."

Llyn chuckled softly. "No offense taken."

Ed felt himself beginning to relax a little around this strange man who only reminded him in passing of someone far more arrogant. He thought he'd get used to bumping into people that brought back memories him of his life in Amestris... and Llyn didn't look _that_ much like Mustang -- in fact, when he looked directly at him, he looked almost nothing like Colonel Useless -- however, there was enough similarity that when he caught sight of him sideways it felt surreal.

Llyn tilted his head curiously and asked, "Then, d'ye mind if I observe? I've an interest in neuroscience technology -- especially since I came across an article not too long ago about advancements in prosthetics." He gestured at Ed's shoulder. "I take it that plate is where the connection between the -- automail, was it?" At Ed's nod, he went on, "That's where the connection between it and you is housed, enabling you to make the arm move?"

"Yeah," Ed said. He touched his shoulder and said, "The wiring is connected to the nerve endings."

Llyn winced. "Aye, I'll bet it gives ye a bit of pain when the weather turns, doesn't it?"

The tension left Ed as he nodded. To Llyn, he wasn't an oddity -- he wasn't even a patient, really. There was a casualness in the man's demeanor that made Ed willing to discuss the technology of automail and compare what he was familiar with to what was being researched in this world, now. With a smile, Ed rolled his right sleeve up, exposing his arm once more. "I guess I could use a little help, here. If... if you don't mind, that is."

"Not at all. If ye don' care that I'll be asking a million questions," Llyn said, as he slipped another small screwdriver from the tool pouch.

As Llyn followed Ed's direction with the maintenance, he explored the inner workings of the arm. He compared Ed's automail with what he'd learned about prosthetics in this world and Ed absorbed it all hungrily. Questions about his arm and leg were woven in with detailed descriptions of the advances that had been made since the early 20th century and were expected to be available soon, giving him a sense of hope. The one thing he'd hated most about being in Germany the first time was the unavailability of replacement limbs that could move similarly to real ones. From Llyn's descriptions, it appeared that Ed might eventually be able to replace his automail with something like it, but much lighter.

The young doctor's excitement brought back warm memories of Winry, but at least Ed didn't think he was going to have to duck any flying wrenches.

He had no idea just how much time had passed, but before he knew it, Llyn straightened and said, "Let's see how ye do, now."

Ed tested his arm and wrist with a series of twists and turns, and nodded appreciatively at how smoothly and quietly they moved. "Not bad. As good as Al does, in fact."

Llyn picked up the can of WD-40 and said, "Speaking of which, where is your brother?"

Ed rolled his eyes upwards and pointed toward the ceiling. "I think he's being held hostage by your father and Hughes."

With dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, Llyn asked, "Tell me, was my Da in a kilt?"

Ed shook his head, and Llyn visibly relaxed -- until Ed added, "Hughes was, though."

Llyn groaned and covered his face. "I was afraid of that. Da looks for any excuse to wear the tartan. If he talked y'r friend Hughes into one, chances are, he'll do t'same to y'r wee brother. P'haps we should form another rescue party."

Ed almost became horrified, but then he remembered how Al had turned on him when Singer had dropped him to his knees -- and a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Nah. I'm sure he's not getting his ass kicked... too badly."

Llyn appeared confused, but didn't ask for clarification. Instead he held up the can of lubricant and said, "I'll just put this back in the garage, then. There's a website ye'll wanna take a look at. Just do a search for 'Bionic Arm'." He turned and started toward the door that led outside, but hesitated next to a shelf with several stacks of folded clothes. "Ah!" he said as he pulled a pair of pants and a shirt from one pile. He faced Ed with a sheepish grin and waved the clothes around. "This is what I'd come for in the first place." Then with that, he opened the door and left Ed alone once more.

o0o0o0o0o

Maes and Alden emerged in the kitchen, all decked out in traditional kilts with all the trimmings and tassels. They stopped just inside the doorway, standing shoulder to shoulder, posing proudly, grinning hugely and waiting until they had the full and undivided attention of everyone in the sun-bright room. Amber and Reilly dropped what they were doing at the counter, turning to lean back against it, both of them giving appreciative gazes that -- at least from Reilly -- had a hint of the lecherous that made Maes feel quite a bit warmer than he had been a moment ago. Ducky, hunkered at the table with his laptop, arched a brow and had far more success at suppressing a snicker than Ed, who was standing behind him.

Amber murmured, "Now, isn't that a picture. Definitely worth waiting for."

"Aye," Alden said, still grinning, "But ye havnae seen the best of us, yet." At that, he and Maes both stepped aside with a flourish to reveal Al, who was freshly showered and dressed in a formal white shirt and impeccably draped red-toned kilt, a black leather sporran with leather tassels hanging in front, his legs adorned in high cream-colored hose, a small, black-handled dagger tucked into the right sock. The reaction was instantaneous, and everything a proud Caledonian might have dreamed of.

Heist, strolling through the entryway to the dining room, stopped short at the sight and exclaimed, "Damn! If I'd known you were such a hottie, I'd have broken you out of that place all by myself."

Llyn stepped into the room from the outdoor entrance, and whistled appreciatively, "Young Elric, you cut a fine, fine figure, there."

Ducky burst out, "Duuude! No wonder they locked you away, you heart-breaker, you!"

And Ed stared in absolute, frozen silence.

Maes watched him take it all in: the strong, muscled legs; the straight, clean lines of the kilt that was anything but a "skirt"; the pristine whiteness of the long-sleeved shirt encasing the young man's broad shoulders; the head held high and proud, fine brown hair a little ruffled, cheeks flushed with excitement. Al stood on conscious display, arms at his sides, wide eyes bright as he waited for his brother's reaction.

"Al," Ed spoke at last. "That's just... spectacular. You're going to be fighting them off if you're not careful."

Maes chuckled to himself. He had to hand it to him: Ed had a streak of grace, and a way of giving in when least expected, and he regarded his brother with open, unabashed admiration.

Al blushed, ducking his head. Maes grinned at Ed, and teased, "You'd look just as good, you know. You sure you don't want one too?"

He was unprepared for Ed's darting glance of alarm, before the young man's more characteristic smirk took over his face. "Not a chance, Hughes, I already told you. And anyway, I'd be an anticlimax after this. I think it's Al's night to shine."

"C'mon, Ed, if you're really squeamish, I'm sure you could wear something under-– "

"Drop it, Hughes." This, not from Ed, but from Al. Sharp and flat, the boy's eyes stern with warning.

And only then did the man notice Ed's left hand resting on his leg, fingers spread, as though unconsciously trying to shield it from notice. His automail leg, hidden as always under the long legs of his pants. Even the hose coming up to his knees, as Al's did, would never disguise the nature of that leg.

Maes cursed himself for not thinking -- so used to Ed's prosthetics and the technology that created them -- and scrambled to redeem the situation. "All right, all right," he babbled, running his free hand through his hair, "some of us are into cross-dressing and some of us aren't. So sue me."

"Besides, Terminator," Ducky muttered, bending back over his laptop, "you just couldn't compete with such a good-looking brother – OW!" he yelled, as Ed flicked the back of his head with an automail finger. "Cut it out, Ed!" he complained. But he shot Maes a private smile, satisfied with his distraction.

_Another unexpected streak of grace_, the man thought.

"Right." Amber straightened up with fresh purpose. "Just a few more things to finish and we're ready to celebrate. Llyn, take Al out with you and start the fire, won't you? Ed, you and Ducky can check the tables out there, and make sure we don't need any more. The rest of you can help me carry things out. Maes, you're excused from lifting anything, I think."

As the diminutive woman issued brisk directions like a military officer, Reilly sidled close to Maes and murmured in his ear, "You cut a damn fine figure yourself, by the way."

"Why, thank you," he bowed.

"Should I even ask...?"

"Let's just say it had better not get windy," he grinned impudently.

"Or maybe it should." She laughed softly and slipped away again, grabbing a couple of folding chairs and taking them out the door.

Maes watched her go, then turned abruptly to Amber, touching her shoulder with his good hand. "Do you think," he said, voice a little unsteady, "that I can ask a very big favor of you...?"

o0o0o0o0o

**June 5, 1919 -- 2:21pm**

**Central City, Amestris**

Roy peered down into the sewer line and wondered, for the hundredth time, if this was really what he'd signed up for all those years ago. The ongoing repairs weren't technically his concern; that work belonged to Central City administration and the new civilian government of Amestris. But the damage to the city a year ago had resulted from an invasion, so the military had a certain responsibility to help with repairs. Especially since some of the carnage had been caused as much by the military's defensive tactics as by the invaders' actions.

Not to mention Roy's own defensive actions. One side effect of blowing up invading robots was the ruin of everything within range of the explosions and their resulting shrapnel. The razing of several small buildings along the main route of the invasion could be laid, in the end, pretty much at Roy's door.

And then there was the fact that the invaders had come through a transmutation circle. And that, he'd realized early on, _was_ what he'd signed up for –- to do good for the people through alchemy. Or, since that seemed to have become an impossible dream, at least to help repair the damage that alchemy did _to_ the people.

So he stood, hand in one pocket fiddling with a battered and scarred State Alchemist's watch, staring down into the excavation running along a side street, where workers –- some of them soldiers under his command –- reconstructed a broken sewer tunnel, brick by brick. The thought flashed through his mind: some things could be repaired with bricks and mortar. While other things...

His fingers clenched around the watch. _Concentrate_.

"Havoc," he wondered, "did they give you that estimate yet?"

Jean Havoc, watching to his left, replied without taking his eyes off the work, "This block will be done by the end of the week, sir. Two weeks, and it will reconnect with the main line, and we'll be done here. City admin will take over and resurface the street itself."

"Budget?"

"Over, I'm afraid." The lieutenant cast him an amused glance, adding, "But isn't every budget, these days? Too bad our paychecks haven't done likewise."

Riza Hawkeye, standing to Roy's right, leaned around him and remarked, "We've been under budget in a couple of places where the lines survived intact, so we may balance before we're done."

"And we'll be one of the few departments who do." Roy nodded, turning away from the scene. "At least everything's on schedule, so we can rest easy about that. Let's get back to the office, Hawkeye. Havoc, report later, all right?"

"Gotcha, boss."

Roy had only taken a few steps when he jerked to a halt with a sharp gasp. Heart pounding, fear and hope choking the breath in his chest, he gaped at a dim figure standing in the shade of a store front across the street. He wanted, needed to get over there, but he was frozen in nightmarish horror –- couldn't walk, couldn't move. He felt the tugging on his arm as though from a great distance, and barely registered voices hammering at the edges of his awareness. He had to get there –- before it was too late-–

"Sir! General! What's wrong?" Lieutenant Havoc. Pulling at him, rotating him half around, dragging his attention away from...

Roy yanked himself back –- and blinked. Hawkeye crouched before him, gun out, aiming toward the store front he'd been concentrating on. The empty store front.

Even as that fact dawned on him, she straightened up, lowering her weapon and frowning back over her shoulder. "Sir...?" Her too perceptive eyes searched his face. "I don't see what the problem is...?"

They hadn't seen anything. Either of them. Then... had he? Really?

"You okay, boss?" Havoc asked, his own eyes sweeping up and down the street before returning to his superior officer's face.

Roy forced his thudding heart into a more even beat, and his lips into an upward curve. He regarded the two of them with his amused, sidelong smile. "Relax, both of you. I'm fine. Old reflexes die hard, that's all."

"You're sure everything's all right?" Havoc didn't seem entirely convinced, and Hawkeye's suspicious gaze still bored into him.

He studiously ignored it. "Everything's fine. Sorry to startle you. And now we'd really better get back. Coming, Hawkeye?" He turned on his heel and headed back along the street, away from the construction zone. Despite the bright sunlight and the warm day, he found himself shivering, and couldn't seem to stop.

After a quick murmured exchange with Havoc, Hawkeye jogged to catch up. She said nothing about the incident, which was almost more uncomfortable than if she'd spoken her mind. At least then Roy could have concentrated on arguing, and maybe settled himself down with that return to normalcy.

Instead, he brooded in silence as they walked together toward headquarters, under trees recently planted on the boulevard in the massive beautification project sponsored by some of Central's wealthier citizens. Roy plunged a hand back into his pocket, fingers finding the State Alchemist's watch, tracing its contours over and over as he pictured once again the inscription scratched roughly into the inside of its cover: _Never Forget -- 10 Oct 03_.

o0o0o0o0o

**June 5, 2006 -- 6:17pm**

**Rose Hill, Kansas **

Maes stood to one side, nursing a drink in his good hand and watching the celebrations before the bonfire. The boom box on the table by the door blared some rousing Caledonian –- or rather, Scottish -- bagpipe and fiddle music. Alden and Amber were engaged in some sort of highland dance together on the lawn close to the fire, Alden kicking up his feet with the vigor of a much younger man. A little to one side, Ducky and Heist... well, he supposed they regarded their gyrations as a dance, while Lucy tried to teach Al the same high-stepping moves that her parents were making so energetically.

Reilly appeared to have gone inside for a minute. Ed was, unsurprisingly, at the refreshments table, nibbling absently while his nose was buried in a book... and beyond him--

Maes caught sight of Llyn's face and looked away again, quickly, concentrating on his glass with a frown. He debated putting it down and going to find Reilly, until he found Llyn at his side, holding a glass of his own.

"Nice night," Maes remarked. "Very warm."

"Even warmer when y're dancing," Llyn chuckled. After a moment of silence he added quietly, "He must be a good friend, I think?"

"Who?"

"This person you see whenever you look at me."

Maes sighed and gently swirled the ice in his glass. "Sorry about that. You're right. He –- Roy -– he's my closest friend, and we've been through a lot together. And he thinks I'm dead. And for me –- he is dead. As dead to me as my wife and daughter."

"Sorry to be such a reminder, then."

"You are –- and you aren't. When I look right at you, it's obvious the resemblance is only superficial. But," Maes shrugged apologetically, "when I just catch a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye, it's as though he's standing right there. I'm trying to get used to it, but my nerves are shot. It's all a bit much right now."

"Maybe we could prescribe something to help you calm down?" Llyn asked, frowning his concern.

"No, it's all right. You've already done more than enough. You saved my life only a couple of days ago, after all." Maes smiled reminiscently. "Another way you remind me of him... we did that for each other, more than once."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He is -- I mean was. Was." A little shrug. "Got to get used to that, I suppose."

o0o0o0o0o

He was blushing furiously, and he hated himself for it. Staring back at him, a devious smile tugging at her lips, was Reilly.

Ed had been paging through the books Ducky had found for him... it seemed ages ago now. As it was, he'd read through three of them twice, and was on his third pass-through with the current volume. Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, he sighed. If this was the extent of knowledge for this particular field, he was truly concerned. Ducky had promised to find him more books; but the man had also shown a considerable lack of initiative unless prodded... painfully. A shadow had fallen over the page he was reading, but Ed had been too focused on the line of text to pay it any mind. He wasn't aware of Reilly standing over him until she'd grabbed his wrist, while simultaneously wrenching the volume from his hands. "Hey, dammit I was reading that!"

Reilly smirked as she flipped the book in her hand. "'Contemporary Mathematics: Groups, Languages, Algorithms'? Ed... this is as dry as dry toast."

Ed snatched for the book, missing as she lifted it away. "Maybe to you..."

She tossed the book into the grass behind him. "Look, you are going to enjoy this evening even if I have to beat you, got it?"

Grumbling, he nonetheless allowed her to pull him across the open lawn. The warm evening air really did feel nice as it washed over him. Glancing around, he smiled suddenly as he caught sight of Al. The younger boy was engaged in what looked like a tickle attack with Amber's small daughter, Lucy. As he watched, he felt a hand brush his arm. "You ever cut a gig in the evening light?"

Startled, Ed glanced back at Reilly, who looked positively wicked. "W-what?"

With a laugh, she spun in place, then grasped his hand. "Come on Ed, you can't tell me you've never danced before!"

Ed swallowed thickly and groaned with resignation. He'd known Reilly long enough to realize that to refuse her would probably end with him in stitches. "Fine, but just for a minute..."

Reilly laughed as she spun him in a circle. "Sorry, you're on my time now!"

Through his protests, he could hear Ducky shouting something that sounded like 'lord of the dance', but didn't acknowledge it. Probably just another stupid tee-vee reference again. Condemned to his fate, Ed finally gave in, allowing himself to gradually learn the steps of the dance as Reilly led him over the grass. It really wasn't too complicated. Glancing every now and then at the other dancers around him, Ed gleaned enough information to take back a little control. Reilly gave him the lead willingly, and Ed was amazed to realize he was actually having fun. When Reilly dropped breathlessly to the grass after a particularly rousing turn, Ed was surprised to see how much the light had faded.

Sitting beside the flushed woman, Ed chuckled slightly. All the dancing had brought to mind a memory, so faded from time that it felt as though it belonged to someone else. It was a brief flash, his mother and father, holding each other as they spun across a moonlit yard... He turned to Reilly, not quite knowing what to say.

Before he could speak, a shout caught his attention. "Ed, come and roast some marshmallows," Ducky called across the yard.

Reilly smiled knowingly as she stood. "Beat it, I'm through torturing you for now."

Tom wandered over from the house as she spoke, and took her arm. "Amscray, I got second dibs."

Smiling, Ed left his spot on the lawn, where Alden and Amber and Tom and Reilly had begun another dance. Wandering over to the logs near the edge of the fire pit, he joined his brother and the others. Al and Ducky hunched over on one log, marshmallows already thrust toward the flames on the end of long, thick wires. Kneeling in the grass nearby, Hughes patiently helped Lucy put a couple of marshmallows on a wire of her own, while Llyn and Heist occupied a bench on the other side, their own marshmallows almost done.

"Here you go." Llyn handed him a wire as he passed.

Ed flopped down into the grass beside Hughes, reaching across into Ducky's bowl and fishing out a couple of marshmallows. "Remember how we used to do this back home, Al?" he mused.

"I was just thinking about that." Al's eyes shone, looking across Ducky at him. "All the kids from the town used to go up to the Rockbell's place."

Hughes smiled to himself, "I can just picture Winry and the two of you, all in a row in front of the fire, like cute little ducklings. Here you go," he added to Lucy, placing one end of her long wire into her hands, then cupping her hands in his own and guiding it nearer the fire.

"My dad and I used to do this," Ducky reminisced, "when we went camping."

Llyn smiled. "It should be part of every child's experience in this country."

"Well, it's not mine," Heist remarked. "This is the first time I've ever done this."

Ducky peered over at her. "Seriously? You are way backward, H."

She snorted. "Tell me when I've ever been near a bonfire in the city, Ducks. I don't do rustic, you might remember."

"Then you're in f'r a treat," Llyn asserted. He pulled his own wire back toward him and examined the even brown crust on his marshmallows, shading toward black just at one edge. "There's an art to it, you see," he remarked, grinning at Heist's own white-black results. "You need to be turning constantly. Here. Try one of mine." He touched a marshmallow, fingers jerking back from the heat, then waved the wire around to cool it before trying again. The marshmallow finally dragged off the wire, trailing steaming goo as it came free. "Open," he said, and as Heist obediently opened her mouth, inserted the marshmallow inside, running his fingers across her lower lip to free them of the sticky mess.

She chewed gingerly, eyes never leaving his face, taking quick, sharp breaths to dispel some of the heat. Then her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "S'good! S'really good!"

"_Oh no_!" Lucy cried simultaneously as she lost hold of her wire and it dropped into the flames. "I losted it!"

"Hold on –- I'll get it." Hughes grabbed the nearest end of the wire. But it had already heated just enough that he dropped it again. "Ow! Ow! Sorry, sweetheart –- it's too hot. But don't worry, we can start another one. Why don't you have mine, for now?"

"No," the girl pouted. "I want mine."

"Then we'll get another wire," he began, but she shook her head vehemently, pig tails flying. "No," she repeated. "I don't want it now. I want to dance."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "It's not hard to start another one–-"

"Dance," Lucy insisted, leaping to her feet.

"Then dance it is, my lady," Hughes agreed gallantly, and followed the little girl across the lawn.

Ed watched them go with a grin. "Shouldn't we be taking pictures of this?" he chuckled.

Ducky groaned. "And then have to look at them over and over for the next year?"

Al laughed in delight. "You know him pretty well already, I see."

Ed stretched out his legs, watching his marshmallows gradually turn brown as he rotated them close to the flames. He glanced over to where Heist had already stuck three more marshmallows on her wire. Llyn seemed quite amenable to supervising her latest attempt closely, leaning against her arm, murmuring comments into her ear. Beyond the two of them, over on the lawn, the original two couples continued their slow dance, while Lucy lifted her arms for Hughes to pick her up and join in.

Ed couldn't remember the last time he'd been this relaxed. It certainly hadn't happened any time since he'd found himself in this era; all those weeks had been spent worrying, first about whether he'd ever find Al, and then about whether they'd ever be reunited. But now, at last, they were. He could still hardly believe it: Al was free, he was here in the flesh. And Ed was determined that nothing –- _nothing_ -– would ever separate them again.

He looked over at his brother, to find Al already watching him. They smiled companionably across Ducky, who leaned back with a smirk as though giving them more room to stare at each other. Ed snorted. The guy was such an idiot.

Presently, Al's eyes focused over Ed's shoulder, and his brows drew together in consternation. Ed snapped his head around, instantly on the alert for trouble. But nothing had changed; the two adult couples continued to dance, while Hughes swayed from side to side, Lucy cuddled in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

Ed glanced back at his brother, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question, but Al nodded insistently back toward Hughes.

This time, Ed saw it. The little girl was essentially sitting on the man's good arm as he supported her against him, while his other hand rested lightly on her back. Her light, pig-tailed head nestled in the curve of his neck and shoulder, and he had rested his chin on the top of her head as he moved slowly, rocking gently back and forth in time to the music.

Hughes stared into nothingness, seeming at first merely to be gazing abstractly as he danced. But as he pressed his cheek against Lucy's hair, his head tilted slightly and the bright glow of the bonfire fell onto his face. The searching glare of the flames cruelly bared the unendurable yearning there. Cheeks drawn, jaws clenched rigidly against an inner pain, his lips parted and began to tremble, green eyes bright with welling tears.

Ed watched with constricted heart, fresh grief flooding into him. The song slowly came to an end, and the man bent over to set the little girl on her feet on the grass. He leaned down to say a few words to her, whereupon she nodded vigorously and came scampering back to the logs by the fire, clambering into her big brother's lap, asserting, "Mr. Hughes says I get your marshmallows."

Hughes stood, his face half in shadow, watching until she was safely in Llyn's care. Then he spun around, taking off his glasses and swiping the back of a hand across his eyes as he walked alone into the house.

Ed looked back at Al, who looked as miserable as he felt. They shrugged helplessly at each other, until Ed suddenly realized that his marshmallows, still held over the fire, were blackened and ablaze. He flung down his wire, rolling them in the dirt and stomping on them until the fire went out. It wasn't fair! That the Gate should have grabbed this man and ripped him out of his world –- it just wasn't fair! It should have taken Mustang, or better still, Hakuro –- anyone but Hughes.

Ed gazed in gloom at the ruined marshmallows. If only there were something he could do! He was supposed to be a prodigy, and he'd passed through the Gate several times now, surely he ought to be able to figure out _something_ that could get them home. But always, always he ran up against the wall, against that one thing he simply could not do to activate the Gate.

He and Al had each other, and so they endured it. But Hughes...

Ed scraped the charred marshmallows off the wire, jammed another couple on, and thrust them into the fire, rotating them absently as he mulled over the problem for the thousandth time.

o0o0o0o

Unnoticed in the darkness, two pair of eyes watched as Hughes disappeared into the house. The woman called Reilly, who'd become the Protector of all three of them made to follow him, but Tom -- her 'Spirit Father' -- stopped her with a gentle hand. Speaking softly, he appeared to convince her to let him go in her stead.

The Iron Butterfly had witnessed his friend's heartbreak and vented his frustration, but after he'd stomped the flaming marshmallows out, he'd settled onto the log with a pensive scowl.

"It takes a great amount of heat to make iron malleable, but eventually it takes the form that was intended for it," Singer said. "Our friend is beginning to suspect the temperature is rising."

The raven on Singer's shoulder fluffed his feathers and trilled quietly, and the man smiled. "You're a skeptic," he said to the bird. "His brother is his weakness and he'll do anything he can for him. Once Iron is heated enough, he'll bend."

Man and bird returned to their observations in silence; the Iron Butterfly and his Wolf brother were slowly moving toward the correct path, but they were not his concern at the moment. He was more interested in Hughes and Reilly, who were far more entangled in the web of events to come than even they would suspect. The choices they made tonight would be what either freed the other two to accomplish what was necessary, or block their direction with selfish desires.

o0o0o0o0o

Tom found Maes in the darkened kitchen, back to the door and hunched over a counter. His shoulders shook and his hands gripped the counter so tightly, Tom wondered if there would be imprints left. "Care to talk about it?" he asked.

Maes' spine snapped straight and Tom heard a soft sniff, but by the time the other man faced him, he had himself under some semblance of control. "Pardon?"

Tom knew better; even in the flickering, uncertain light of the bonfire filtering through the lace curtains over the sink, he could see the man had been crying. "You seemed a bit upset a minute ago."

Maes chuckled softly, but it was forced. "Ah. Not at all. I'd just lost track of time." He acted like he was searching for something on the nearly empty counter behind him, and then he snatched up the only thing within his reach -- a box of matches. "Oh, here they are." He held up the box and rattled it. With a lopsided smile that Tom knew was entirely faked, he added, "Can't keep a lady waiting, now can I?"

Tom stepped back and held the door closed with one hand. "Maes, what the hell are you doing?"

Maes shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Okay, Tom, you did your fatherly duty here. My 'intentions' toward Reilly are honorable, and I promise I'll respect her in the morning and all that bullshit." Determination and irritation settled over his face as he added, "You can relax now. Reilly and I are adults, after all."

"No shit," Tom said, flatly. "But Reilly also has a nasty habit of letting her heart blind her to common sense." Tom held up a hand to stop the protest he could see forming on Maes' lips and sighed. "Don't. You're a good man, Maes. I know you care about her and wouldn't deliberately hurt her, but--" he leveled a firm, steady gaze at the other man "--make sure you're being honest with yourself, too."

Maes didn't answer. Instead he turned on his heel and headed out through the laundry room.

Tom sagged against the door and rubbed his hand down his face when he heard the side door close. "Looks like I'm going to have to restock my supply of emotional super glue again," he mumbled and returned to the party.

o0o0o0o0o

Singer saw the older man exit the house and return to Reilly's side a moment after Hughes had slipped away under the cover of darkness. Tom whispered something in her ear and from the tight set of her shoulders, Singer guessed that she was going to ignore the advice of the older man and make the same mistake as Hughes tonight.

He hummed tunelessly and pondered the reasons why so many people forced themselves to make choices that the Spirits told them were wrong. _They forget to be still and listen_, he thought. _They think they want something, but it's all too often not what they __**need**__ and they only get heartache for all their efforts._

Half an hour later, the tiny woman pulled Reilly aside and spoke with her. She pointed her down the same path Hughes had taken earlier and set into motion events that Singer knew would -- _well, 'End the World as We Know It' is a bit extreme_, he thought, _but it'll certainly annoy the hell out of the Spirits. Not to mention bugging the shit out of the entities called the 'Shadows'._

Pulling a dagger from his belt, Singer scraped a shallow hole and pulled a cloth pouch from his fatigue jacket pocket. He opened it and took out a generous pinch of tobacco, sprinkled it into the hole and whispered a prayer to Grandfather Sky, asking if He'd be willing to throw in a little help in redirecting these people.

He received his answer sooner than he'd expected...

o0o0o0o0o

"It was elegant, H, but there was still a fatal flaw," Ducky said.

The hacker was sitting next to Ed and talking across him to Heist, which tended to intrude into his thoughts. Under normal circumstances, he'd be absorbing everything they said and filing it away for later use, but he had other, more pressing problems right now. Namely Hughes. Unfortunately, the solution to that problem was alchemical, not technological, and therefore the discussion was useless to him and that made it irritating, because a part of his mind _wanted_ to learn more.

Ever since Ducky had tossed him his first computer book a couple of months back, Ed had devoured the subject like it was candy. The numbers and codes had to be understood and broken before they revealed their secrets, and each language was unique to the creator. It was much like alchemy and the system an alchemist used to protect his notes.

But it _wasn't_ alchemy.

"What 'flaw'?!" Heist protested. "I closed every hole, tied every knot, left no letter out of place. Gollum was perfect."

Programing was easy for him because he'd already had the basis in alchemy. He was even quite proud of some of the codes he'd written, even if most of what he'd learned so far was elementary. But there was something missing.

Alchemy was alive. It had a scent, a taste, a sound. When he was transmuting, Ed could _feel_ the energy that the arrays and symbols and theorems created flow through him. There was a beauty to it that was transcendent and always left him breathless. Alchemy had a soul, programing didn't.

"If it was perfect," Ducky said, laughing, "they'd never have found it."

Unfortunately, not even alchemy was going to help their current situation.

Oh, it would... but neither Ed nor Al would be willing to pay the price. As much as Hughes belonged on the other side, and as badly as Ed wanted to get him there, he would not, _could not_, take the risk. _Who would have to die to open that Gate? Me? Al? If not us, would it take someone else? Reilly? Ducky? As much of a jerk as he is, I can't sacrifice him. I can't even do that to Bond, and he deserves it._

"Well, if _you'd've_ written it, the whole system would've become the mother of all implosions," Heist teased.

Ed slumped over, jamming his elbow into his knee and dropping his chin into his hand. Every encounter with the Gate ran through his mind as he puzzled over the solution. Every time had ended in disaster. Loss of limb, loss of corporeal form, loss of life. Al's body was trapped in the Gate for five years. Ed lost his arm and leg to it. His alter self died. Ed had willingly transmuted himself to get Al back, just as Al had done something similar to return Ed. Envy, Gluttony, Wrath and countless men were killed. Hohenheim was thrown to the other side, never able to return... he sacrificed himself to get Ed home.

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?" Ducky said. "It was my first simulation. How was I to know that the code would make the plane collapse like a black hole when you accelerated past mach 1, until we tested it?"

No matter how many different methods were used to open the Gate, the end was always the same... loss. Sacrifice.

"That's only because you couldn't think outside the box at the time," Heist laughed. "You were so certain you had it right, that you wouldn't even consider an alternative plan. Arrogant ass!"

The image of Rose in a formal gown and having the infant she cradled in her arms rudely yanked away flashed through his mind and Ed's heart started to pound. _Except once--_

A horrified scream ripped through the serene evening and Ed launched himself off the log and started running without thinking about it. "That was Reilly," he shouted as he barreled headlong into the weeds behind Alden.

o0o0o0o0o

He watched as the Scotsman, the Freak and the Iron Butterfly tore down the trail. The old man held the Wolf back, and the rest of the party chose to remain in the light. Singer listened as voices drifted his way on the breeze, but could only pick out bits and pieces. From the tones, it was clear that no one was in any danger, but the word _'snake'_ came through clearly.

A moment later, he heard the Freak make a noise like a raven's caw that he could only assume was laughter, and he cast an amused glance up to the star-spattered sky. "Your sense of humor is sublime, as always."

The bird on his shoulder hissed irritably, and Singer said, "You would have never thought of that. Stop your lying." He was rewarded with a sharp beak clicking shut next to his ear and nearly fell over in his effort to avoid being bit. "All right, all right. I take it back." As soon as the bird calmed, however, Singer added insult to injury by petulantly sticking his tongue out... and narrowly avoided losing the tip when the raven snapped at it.

o0o0o0o0o

The crisis was over. Fortunately, it hadn't been much of one, but Al had a few moments of apprehension when he'd heard Reilly scream and Tom had held him back from running down the trail with Ed. "I think there are more than enough people to handle whatever happened." the older man had said. He'd sounded unconcerned, but there'd been a line of tension around his mouth and something Al couldn't identify in his eyes.

A moment later, he'd heard Brother bellow at Ducky and the hacker had burst into the light of the bonfire like he was being chased by chimeras -- laughing the whole way. Ed hadn't been running when he returned, but his face was flushed and he was fidgety.

The reason why became embarrassingly clear when Alden strolled back to the party looking thoroughly amused. "Ye'd dubbed the place the Garden of Eden, love," he'd said to Amber. "They just met the serpent."

"They're okay, then?" Amber asked.

"Aye. Only their pride was injured." Alden had wrapped his arm around his wife and waggled his brows lecherously. "Although we might lose Edward to a fatal case of humiliation."

Ed had groaned and covered his face and Al sympathized. The last thing he wanted to picture was Maes Hughes in a compromising position with anyone; least of all, someone who was _not_ Gracia. It was wrong, somehow.

_But is it?_ he wondered as he flopped down into the grass and hastily tucked the hem of the kilt down. _Maybe it's just that Brother and I remember how much he loved Gracia that makes it seem wrong. But he's stuck here like we are, and he was so sad when he was dancing with Lucy. Brother and I have each other; he doesn't have anyone._

Al sighed and leaned back against the log his brother was using as a seat. The party was beginning to wind down and even with the excitement he was feeling truly relaxed for the first time since falling into this world.

Ed's hand rested on his shoulder as if to make sure he was still beside him, and he asked, "You okay, Al?"

The younger brother nodded and smiled. "Yeah." He was reunited with Ed, Maes was alive, and he could trust the people around him. The best part of it all, Al didn't have to worry that Bond was lurking in the shadows, ready to leap out at him at any moment. Amber assured them all that even if he lived and got better, he'd be locked away, never to threaten them again.

Still, there was always that small chance.

In light of that, Reilly had suggested -- and it had been agreed on by a unanimous vote -- that they'd all relocate somewhere and start life anew. Amber said she'd pull some strings to make sure everyone had new identities and histories, and with the money Reilly was able to free up from her inheritance, they would do fine. In fact, they'd be like a family of sorts ("We'll put the fun in dysfunctional," Tom had snarked) and Al found he was looking forward to the stability all that was offering. No more throwing themselves into dangerous situations. No more people wanting to kill them for one reason or another. They'd have a home to return to every day, maybe even jobs. They wouldn't be putting off their 'lives' until they could achieve some drastic, desperate goal. And if Reilly made Maes a little happier, all the better. "Yeah," he repeated as he used Ed's left thigh as a headrest. "This is nice, isn't it, Brother?"

Across the bonfire, Ducky and Heist were leaned in close, talking in low tones that no one else could hear. Suddenly, Heist punched the strange hacker and Ducky's response was an insane cackle.

"I dunno about 'nice'," Ed said. "Weird, maybe."

Al giggled. "Well, it'll never be boring."

To Al's left, Tom and Llyn were sitting in the grass and talking animatedly -- or at least as animated as Llyn could get with an armful of worn-out, sleeping toddler. Over by the buffet tables Amber was doing a slow dance with her husband.

Maes and Reilly hadn't returned to the party, and Al supposed that they didn't intend to. Something about that continued to nag at the back of his mind, though. _They're adults_, he thought and tried to push the pervading sense of _wrongness_ away, but it wouldn't budge. The tears he'd seen in Maes' eyes when he was dancing with Lucy just didn't mesh with spending a night with Reilly doing something that should be making him happy. _Except I don't think it is_, he thought. _Not really. I think he's trying to tell himself that it will though_. Al suppressed a groan. Maes didn't belong here -- no more than he and Brother did -- but at least they could adjust. He didn't think Maes really ever would. _His heart will never mend until he goes back._

He kept returning to what Singer had said earlier: _"You know the answers already."_

Al certainly knew through unpleasant experience. _Except Singer didn't point at his head when he said it. He pointed at his heart. Was he trying to tell us something? That we needed to look within our hearts for the answers? If that was the case, it would be obvious that we needed to try to open the Gate. But is it worth the sacrifice? Can we deliberately take someone's life to save someone else? And who would we choose? __**How**__ would we choose? _

_The answer is: We can't._

_...There has to be another way._


	30. Ch 24c The Pattern of a Tangled Web

**"The Pattern of a Tangled Web"**

**Arc One: Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Balance of Power**

Part Three

**June 5, 2006 - 11:41pm**

**Rose Hill, Kansas**

"Hey Al," Ed said, pulling the younger brother from his musing into the bonfire. "You know how to play that thing?"

Al slid the flute from his shirt-pocket, twisted to face Ed and waved it at him. "You mean this?" he asked, secretly welcoming the interruption. "Yeah. Sorta."

A shy, crooked smile graced Ed's face, and he said, "Would you?"

Al beamed at him, nodded, and wriggled about a moment to get comfortable. He'd always created the best sounding tunes when he let his mind wander over happier times -- so he closed his eyes, placed his lips on the flute, and allowed pleasant images to form in his head. The idea of having a family again was the first thing that came to mind, and Al thought about when he and Brother were small; when Mother was still alive, and it always seemed like summer time--

_--Risembool... They were running along the green hills near the train tracks and he'd challenged Ed in a race to see who was the fastest. Brother always used to leave him in the dust, but Al had hit a growing spurt and his legs were longer--_

_--They were fishing from the creek near their house. It was the first day since the spring melt that was warm enough to bring the worms to the surface, but the only thing either of them caught that day were colds from horsing around too close to the water--_

_--Brother had sassed at Granny Pinako yet again. Only this time, he was smart enough to know when to duck. Too bad he wasn't smart enough to duck the second time--_

_--Dublith... All is One and One is All. Brother had complained about stupid riddles, but when they'd finally solved it, they felt like an entire world they never knew existed had opened up--_

_--Al never knew he could fly. What a wonderful sensation! Weightless, he spun in the air and marveled at the sky and ground turning around him... Of course, he was going to have to work on his landing--_

_--To train the mind, you have to train the body. How exhilarating it was to push beyond the limits he thought had existed, to feel his body move without conscious thought; to send his brother hurling over his shoulder-- _

Al's thoughts wandered to grimmer times; the years he was in armor and they were searching for the Philosopher's Stone -- but even then, there were light moments that he cherished--

_--Ed challenged Colonel Mustang to a fight. Kittens, Philosopher's Stones and Recertification aside, this would not end well. But Al couldn't help being amused when the colonel pulled his left hand out of his pocket and reminded Ed that he wore two gloves--_

_--They did it! They had actually managed to take down the immovable object, Major Armstrong, in a sparring match. It took both of them working as a team, but they did it!--_

_--They watched Colonel Mustang literally sneak around the corner, and they followed at a distance, curious. Why, they'd wondered, did he want to hide in the supply closet? And did he ever find out it was they who told Lt. Colonel Hughes, armed with new pictures of Elysia, where he was?--_

_--Ed should have known better than to hide Havoc's cigarettes. It always made the second lieutenant cranky, which in turn annoyed the first lieutenant, and she had much better aim--_

_--Brother was in the emergency room, screaming and bellowing and cursing badly enough that the poor private who'd delivered them was blushing. At one point, Ed sounded like he was being killed, and that was when the colonel had arrived. Al saw Roy Mustang go deathly pale just before he barged through the curtain that had been drawn about the exam table. If he'd asked, Al would have told him Brother just needed a couple of stitches--_

_--Al had seen the terror on the colonel's face that day on the parade grounds, but Brother never said much more than "He froze up". Ed would never admit to anyone that he worried about Mustang some days, after that--_

Brother acted like he hated the colonel, and sometimes the colonel didn't seem to like him all that much, but what Al saw when Ed's back was turned, was how Mustang's expression softened when he looked at them. Ed would swear to his dying day that Mustang had just used them to further his own goals all those years, but the truth was, Ed had used him, as well. More alike than either would ever admit, they were intertwined in heart, soul, and goal--

"Al..." Ed broke in, his voice shaky and barely there.

Al's eyes snapped open and were instantly locked onto the bonfire--

--Or more accurately, what the bonfire had become.

The flames were dancing higher, coalescing, forming into a shape that defied the laws of physics. An eight-pointed star within a circle... and in the center, a hook -- much like a serpent. It was a part of the crest given to them by Teacher; the array that had kept his soul bound to the armor all those years.

As they watched, the serpent grew thicker about the middle, sprouted legs and a head. It twisted around smoothly and wriggled downward, stopping at the edge of the star. Its head came up, searching the sky blindly--

"Is that... a lizard?" Amber asked.

"A salamander," Ed whispered. "It's... a fire elemental."

Two dark, flameless crescents within the salamander's head appeared and grew, like sleepy eyes slowly opening up from a long dream. It tilted its head back down to earth and regarded both Al and Ed curiously. Then it blinked and the flames fell like molten rain... the bonfire once more behaving as it should.

There was a long moment of stunned silence -- even the frogs and crickets nearby had quieted -- then everyone started talking at once.

"Whoa!"

"It looks as though talent runs in th' family, a'ight."

"Well, would you look at that."

"Al, how did you do that?" Ed asked.

"I'm not sure."

o0o0o0o0o

June 6, 1919 -- 6:41 am

Central City, Amestris

Roy stumbled into his room and fell into bed without bothering to strip out of his uniform. He could barely move; couldn't even expend the energy to crawl under the covers before his eye slammed shut and refused to open again.

The inside of his head had begun to feel like a crowded auditorium just before the lights dimmed as phantasms twisted and morphed. Disjointed voices threaded through his consciousness, interwoven with the thin strains of a single instrument that he couldn't immediately identify. Music he didn't recognize played, stirring up primitive images and emotions within him -- never staying still long enough for him to grasp and examine closely. Gradually, his body felt like it was floating even as it was weighed down by sleep.

Visions of aboriginal people dancing around a fire and chanting hypnotically, dressed in skins and moving like the animals they imagined themselves to be, mingled with passages of dry text dispassionately describing theories on energy transference and religious beliefs -- all of them brought on by the book he'd gotten from Muriel. They came so fast that they'd all blended together, becoming a part of each other.

A man -- and Roy knew with a certainty that only came in dreams that he was a mystic -- came into focus, with a face that felt familiar, yet not -- with long sandy hair and ancient, gold eyes that had seen more than other humans. As he faced Roy, he smiled benevolently and the skins around him changed into flowing robes while the bonfire collapsed into itself to become a glowing array with alien symbols. "You're beginning to understand why I chose this place," the leader said as Roy was pulled backwards.

He was left standing on a hill in the dark of night, gazing down at the sacred grounds in the distance. He could see more, and realized that the array was within the skeleton of a hulking beast that had died nestled against an old tree. The bones were older than time and had seen countless rituals; many of them were broken and shattered, unidentifiable. Those that remained were blackened and charred. From the tree hung a relic -- an enormous ring tied with woven vines.

A thrill of comprehension surged through him like a bolt of electricity and Roy struggled toward consciousness, but his sleeping mind refused to release him. A new dream started, and he knew it must be a dream because everything looked like he was trying to see it through a wall of flames. That should have made him awaken instantly, because for too many years, any dream that started that way ended badly; usually with him screaming and bolting awake in a puddle of cold sweat, or occasionally barely in time to lean over the side of the bed and vomit.

This time though, it felt different; had a new flavor and sensation. It didn't frighten or nauseate him, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. He felt more of a detached curiosity; he wanted to see how this played out.

Thought became deed, and the flames irised open to a black, velvet sky with familiar summer constellations overhead. There was a low murmur of voices behind him, and the melody became clearer. As he tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, he heard a trembling whisper... a single sound that he couldn't understand, but it felt heartbreakingly familiar all the same. As he searched, the music stopped and he was surprised at how desperately he wanted it to continue. He tried to cry out to the invisible player to keep going, but he couldn't find his voice.

Then he looked down. The firelight licked over spun gold and bronze and danced in wide, awestruck eyes--

--Roy snapped awake, gasping for breath -- _It was a dream! Oh gods, it was only a dream!_

o0o0o0o0o

**June 6, 2006 -- 12:37am**

**Rose Hill, Kansas **

Night had fully enveloped them, and the fire had been reduced to smoldering ashes by the time Amber roused the group to head inside. Ed had stared contemplatively at the fire long after everyone else had fallen to talking amongst themselves. Al had hesitantly played a few contemporary Amestrian songs before falling silent, as though the magic had gone from the flute after the vision in the fire. Filling a pail of water from an outside faucet, Alden poured the contents over the remaining coals, setting free a cloud of smoky ash. Taking the hint, Ed pulled Al upright and pushed him towards the house. The younger boy shook his head wearily, returning the flute to an inside pocket.

Inside, Amber and Heist worked together to wash the dishes from the afternoon meal. Tom and Ducky sat at the kitchen table while Alden carried a sleepy Lucy to her bed. Ducky had already unpacked his computer and was tapping his fingers impatiently as the machine powered up. Reilly and Hughes were nowhere to be seen, but Ed already knew where they were. Blushing again, he walked over to sit across from Ducky at the table, dropping his small stack of books down with a thud. Ducky barely glanced up before returning his attention back to the screen. "What's up Term?"

Ed sighed, but let the nickname pass. "I need more..."

Ducky leaned forward suddenly, tapping at the keyboard. "About damn time! Amber, hon- your internet sucks out here!"

Hands buried in suds, Amber glanced over her shoulder. "Hey, I'm perfectly content with dial-up. I never did grasp what was so vital about instant access anyhow." Beside her, Heist fumbled, nearly dropping a dish.

Ed lowered his brows. "Ducky."

The hacker glanced up. "Yup?"

"I was wondering if I could get..."

A series of beeps made Ducky look away again, this time with a grimace. "Ah, frickin' damn!" He shouted, only to be immediately shushed by Tom and Amber.

A moment later, Alden appeared. "Ducky-- lad, ye plannin' to put the lass back to bed yerself when she wakes?"

Only slightly contrite, Ducky tapped furiously at the computer again. Ed, losing patience, stood slowly, walked around the table, and shut the computer.

"Ed, what the hell!"

Ed held the top down while he stared at the hacker. "I need more books."

Ducky shot a glance at his computer. "You know, that really isn't good for..."

"Ducky..."

The young man stood. "What kind of books, I hear Alden has quite the collection -- vintage Hustler from the 70's -- though I prefer a more modern collection myself..."

Ed ground his teeth. Before he could start ranting however, Al intervened. "Please Ducky, it's important."

Managing to actually look apologetic, Ducky ran his hands through his hair. "Yeah, all right. I think Heist might have something in her backpack..."

As he wandered over to talk to Heist, Ed ruffled Al's hair. "You look exhausted, you should go to bed."

Al yawned in response, stretching his arms stiffly over his head. "Okay Brother. But so should you."

"In a minute."

Al drifted towards the room they shared with Maes. Meanwhile, Ed flipped open Ducky's laptop and looked up Google. He hesitated at typing in the search bar. Part of him was really anxious to find out; but a bigger part was afraid to know.

Before he could decide, Heist dropped down in the chair next to him and pulled her backpack into her lap. "Ducks said you needed books?"

Ed closed down the search engine. "Yeah, do you have something I could borrow?"

Heist upended her pack on the table. Ed stared as more books than he thought could possibly fit in her pack spilled out onto the hardwood surface. In addition to the books, a number of other items trickled out. Several bundles of rubber wire, five or six small plastic sticks on cords, and a handful of small wrapped tubes were just some of the objects that rolled out of the pack, scattering across the table and floor. Bending down, Ed retrieved one of the wrapped tubes, looking at it quizzically.

Before he could ask, Heist snatched it away from him. "Heh, sorry about that." Reaching towards the book pile, she pulled a couple of volumes free. "These ones are Stephen King, which you're welcome to read if you want, but I figure you're probably more interested in the research texts."

Ed didn't know who 'Steven King' was, and with the pile before him of unread books, he didn't care. In moments, he was engrossed.

He was just beginning chapter seven when a hand tapped his shoulder. Ed tore his eyes away to look up, only to see Tom smiling at him. Everyone else appeared to have vanished long ago.

"Edward, I know this may not be my place to say this but, it's time to put down the book and go to bed."

Ed rubbed at his eyes, suddenly noticing the stiffness in his right shoulder. As he straightened to stretch, he felt familiar tingles in his lower back and left thigh. "Mm, yeah… you're right. I guess I didn't know how late it was." Standing, he hobbled a little on his sore leg.

Tom reached out to steady him. "Are you okay?"

Ed smiled lightly. "Sure, just a little stiff." The look Tom gave him was disconcerting. On anyone else, Ed would have labeled it 'pity'. Slightly irritated, he brushed aside the steadying hand. "It's no big deal. Just… just keep it to yourself, okay?" Tom nodded, and Ed turned back to the table to mark his place in the book. "Listen, Al doesn't need anything more to worry about…"

"I understand Ed. If you need anything, pain medication… I'm sure Alden…"

"No, it's fine. Besides, I can't risk taking something I might have a reaction to. When I first got my automail, I took Morphine, but had to quit when I started becoming dependent. In Germany, a doctor prescribed Hydromorphone. It worked for a little while, but I developed a resistance to it after about a year. And by then, of course, it was getting to be almost impossible to acquire." Ed stopped, shaking his head. "I guess I've just gotten used to it."

When he finally looked up again, Tom's expression was unreadable. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead, gestured to the guest room. "Don't make me carry you."

Retrieving his book, Ed started for the room, only to feel it slipped from his fingers. Turning around again with a retort ready, he saw Tom smiling at him benignly. Ed was suddenly overtaken by how much his expression reminded him of Hohenheim.

"I promised Amber I wouldn't let you read all night. Now, you don't want to be responsible for causing me to get beat up by a girl do you?"

Ed grinned. "Trust me, I wouldn't wish that on anyone." Leaving the book in Tom's care, he turned his body towards the call of sleep.

At first, his mind was so wrapped up in what he'd read, he wasn't certain he'd fall asleep. However, as he lowered himself onto the bed, the previous day's activities seemed to catch up with him all at once. He was certain he'd never felt a pillow so soft…

The desire to close his eyes was overwhelming. Arranging his limbs automatically, Ed yawned hugely. The text was becoming blurred in his head. As he sank deeper into restfulness, his mind overlapped the present with his memories of the past. He saw Winry typing on a computer, Envy pursuing him in a helicopter, and the Gate. The Gate loomed larger, until it filled the world. A strange device was attached to the doors, studded with things that looked like buttons. He kept hitting different combinations, but nothing opened the doors. Around him danced the beings from the Gate, laughing and mocking his attempts. He beat his fists on the heavy wood. Suddenly, the beings peeled away from him, still laughing. There was someone behind him. He turned, and a saw a man with the head of a spider standing in a halo of light. The man raised a sword and prepared to attack, only to be thwarted by a small, dog-like creature with a black bird's beak. The bird-dog dragged the man away, and Ed felt himself sinking through the ground. Everything faded around him. Before long, the nightmare had been pushed aside by other memories, and Ed relaxed fully into sleep.

o0o0o0o0o

**June 6, 2006 -- 1:04 am**

**Wichita, Kansas**

The unflattering hospital gown drifted to the floor gently, and came to rest on the drab, green linoleum. One corner landed in a patch of something sticky and dark.

Stealthworks Alchemist James Sidney Bond didn't even wince as he pulled the tattered dress shirt over his arms where the flesh had been peppered by flaming shrapnel. Luckily, only one hand had been damaged, and only slightly; a minor cut along the thumb. His face was much worse. The searing heat, as the spider latched on to his face, had left deep pock marks down both cheeks. One eyelid was misshapen, curving into a permanent squint. The ear on that same side was also damaged severely, most of the lobe burned away, leaving only a curl of the cartilage. Four ribs had cracked from the concussion, but thankfully a couple of bomb squad guys had gotten between him and the main blast. They weren't expected to survive.

Bond examined his suit coat. The shirt was one thing, but the coat was simply a disgrace. Grabbing a marker from his things, he drew a quick array on his hospital bed sheet. Placing the coat on the bed, he activated the circle.

o0o0o0o

Four minutes later, the second guard returned from the bathroom. Seeing his partner missing from outside room 211, he peered through the small window. Dropping his hand to his belt, he fumbled the door open and barged inside. A glance at the floor caused his stomach to turn over liquidly. Fighting his nausea, he edged past the mass on the floor. In spite of his caution though, his right foot slipped a little, leaving behind a smeared print as he hurried to the window. The glass looked... melted. Weapon drawn, he leaned over the twisted frame, and looked down. Fumbling for his communicator, his voice cracked as he sounded the alert.

Beneath the sill, it appeared as though the wall had sprouted a series of narrow rods, evenly spaced, all the way to the ground.

o0o0o0o0o

**June 7, 2006 -- 8:11am**

**Rose Hill, Kansas**

When Ed awoke, he remembered nothing of his dream except a vague impression of a grinning coyote and a bright light, and that faded rapidly by the time he left the bathroom.

Nobody else was up yet. The lulling sounds of sleep added to the peace of the morning. Ed stepped carefully through the living room, not wishing to disturb the blissful quiet just yet.

A small noise came from the couch, and Ed glanced over to see Tom shift a little in his sleep. The older man had elected to bunk out on the sofa in order to watch the late news, and the television was still on, though muted. Some kind of morning news was on, with a long line of text scrolling beneath the smiling reporters.

Ed snapped off the set, and had taken two steps towards the kitchen, when something he'd read on the screen suddenly made its way into the forefront of his brain. His brow furrowed, and he turned back to the set. Crouching down, he pressed the button to turn it on again. The mute was no longer active, but Tom had kept the noise level low so as not to disturb anyone while he watched. Turning up the volume slightly, Ed scanned the headlines at the bottom of the screen. _'President makes strides in Uganda... albino crocodile born to Houston zoo...'_, several more topics passed like this, and Ed was starting to think he'd imagined it when, _'suspect in hospital bombing escapes custody...'_. Ed sat back on his heels, unable to stifle the startled gasp. He stared for a second in shock, then reached out to try another station, hoping for more news on the subject. He pressed the button for the next channel, only to be faced with a fuzzy white screen. Agitated, he tried again, and got the same result.

"Oops, sorry Ed, you need the remote." Ed turned to see Tom sitting up to fish the remote out from under his body.

"Quick, find a news station!" said Ed, scooting back so that Tom could see the screen clearly.

Tom looked at him oddly, but quickly adjusted the television back to normal before flipping through stations until he found a local news network. He adjusted the volume up a little more, then sat up fully, pulling his blanket around his legs. Ed remained seated on the floor, anxiously waiting through a long stretch of commercials, and ignoring the glances Tom kept shooting his way. Finally, the news was back, and Ed straightened as the main station anchor turned to the screen.

_"We have breaking news. At approximately 1:15 this morning, the suspect who was being held in connection with the Wichita hospital bombing apparently escaped from police custody. Sources within the department are not releasing information, at this time, as to the nature of the escape. However, we've been informed that one of the guards assigned to the room was found dead. Hospital staff on duty witnessed that the window of the room where the perpetrator was held appeared to be 'blown out'. One witness claims he was outside the building when he saw a bright light or flash of some kind out of the corner of his eye. At the time, he reports thinking it was lightning. No other witnesses have claimed seeing any kind of light at the time of the escape. Police are warning people to remain indoors, and to report any unusual activity in their area. If you see the suspect, you are not to approach him. Instead, get to a phone and alert police immediately to his location. The suspect is described as a white male, between five-ten and six feet tall, early 40's and bald. He has injuries on his face sustained in the bombing and is likely to be armed. He is considered highly dangerous. Anyone with information regarding his whereabouts is urged to call the number at the bottom of the screen. Repeat: The suspect is armed and extremely dangerous. If you see someone fitting his description, do not approach him. Contact the police immediately." _

Ed came to his feet, feeling a thread of fear burning the back of his throat.

Tom stood quickly as well, the blanket falling unnoticed to the floor. He was already rushing to Amber and Alden's room when he glanced over his shoulder. "You go warn Maes and Reilly, I'll wake up these guys. Hurry!"

Ed was out the door before Tom had finished speaking. The mood outside was disarmingly calm in contrast to the rising panic he was feeling. The heat of the day was only just starting to make itself known as he darted around the side of the house, across the yard and up the trail. "Hughes! Reilly! Wake up!" he bellowed as he tore through the arbor and at the silk-curtained gazebo, hoping that it gave them enough time to at least cover up before he got there.

Reilly was just sitting up when he made the entrance, rubbing her eyes and scowling as Hughes was slipping on his glasses. Ed had just a moment to be grateful they were both dressed before he slid to a stop in front of them.

"Ed, what...?"

Hughes stared at him intently, already seeming to answer the question before Ed spoke.

"Bond escaped, we have to run--"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

o0o0o0o0

_Don't forget the contest, to write some scenes for Chapter 25! See details at the end of part two of Chapter 24!_


	31. Ch 25a Move em On Head em Up Rawhide!

_**Balance of Power - Chapter 25 - Part One**_

**"Move 'em on, Head 'em Up... Rawhide!"  
Arc One: Chapter 25  
Balance of Power**

**Part One**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie SPOILER HEAVY and slightly AU**

_It's going to be really quiet around here,_ Ray thought as he started his morning routine, the first part involving downing a cup of coffee before he even thought about going into his tiny bathroom. He would be back on his usual 12-hour day shifts in the ER area of the hospital as of today, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

Tiger (_Al... his name is Al,_ Ray reminded himself) made his escape only a couple of days before and had successfully reunited with his brother -- even though things got a little hairy for a bit there. And now Gene was going home later today. It was going to be... boring. _Never thought a couple of kids would've made things so damned exciting,_ he thought with a soft laugh. _Funny how someone can change your life without even trying._

With Al's help in boosting Gene's self-worth, he'd become a bit more confident in standing up to his mother and father in general, even managing to convince his parents that he was not an invalid. Yesterday, when Ray had happened by the physical therapy rooms, he'd seen Gene working out, a normal wheelchair waiting instead of his usual battery-operated tank. Now he was leaving and Ray was looking forward to seeing the kid off, but he already missed both boys.

_I'm glad the kid's finally doing something __**he**__ wants to do_, Ray thought as he lathered his face for shaving. _Maybe by the time he sees Al again, he'll be using crutches. If it __**is**__ possible for him to use crutches or anything._

His daily routine didn't take too long. Patting his cheeks as he finished shaving, Ray bent his head to wash away the extra shaving foam, making sure to get that little bit that always seemed to sneak into his ear.

Then he looked up.

He'd barely had a chance to register the second image reflecting in the mirror, before he felt something cold, hard and deadly press against the back of his skull. "A pity I have to do this, Mr. Purdue. But I'm afraid you're a loose end." _Click._ "And I do despise loose ends."

0o0o0

Sidney was very meticulous as he removed his gloves and peeled off the the plastic rain poncho that had covered his suit. There was a slight residue of hair and brain matter on the cuffs of his sleeves, but the rest of the flotsam from that interfering nurse was disposed of in the kitchen trash.

He was almost saddened that he didn't have more time to spend with dear Mr. Purdue, but unfortunately he was on a schedule. Vendettas against meddling medical professionals aside, he had to get to Missouri.

He had other unfinished business, after all.

0o0o0o0o0o0

----  
From: heistgoeskerouac  
Re: Why you haven't seen me lately

_Hi Mom, it's your one and only daughter. Notice the new email addy. Yes, another one. No, I'm not in any trouble with the law again... though I am in a bit of a... situation... Ducky and I both are. And no, not that kind of situation. You're going to have to get your grandchildren from another one of your offspring, thank you very much. Hasn't Roman married our adorable little neighbor yet?_

Actually, if you see Mama T any time soon, tell her the Duckster and I both send our love. We're not in a great position for easy communicating, and D has his hands full with another project right now. But we're both safe and healthy and we've still got all our limbs and two eyes each and our brain pans are relatively intact -- for the moment anyways. Ducky and I are keeping each other out of trouble, as always.

I love you, tell the boys their sister says hey.

Lena  
----

**June 7, 2006  
Location: Western Missouri**

They'd left Amber's and drove northeast. Ducky first, then Tom, Reilly, and back to Ducky. The few stops they dared take lasted just as long as it took to fill up with gas or swing through a drive-thru. Whether everyone was still stunned at this most recent turn of events or the general air of anxiety coursing through the van kept them from speaking, very little was said beyond the occasional low murmur concerning their destination between driver and whoever was riding shotgun.

Passing the hours spent cooped up in the Ninjavan idly watching the scenery go by held Heist's attention for all of ten minutes. While she was tired enough to sleep, her naps rarely lasted longer than the distance between potholes. It was like the few attempts at family road trips she'd been on as a kid, only without the forced fun -- without any fun. And less coffee. Definitely not enough coffee.

From her spot in the back of the van, Heist had an unobstructed view of the rest of their little group. She knew Ducky knew them well enough to continue going along with them, the ones from this world, anyway. Hughes, she thought, had been nothing but genuine and most particularly empathetic towards what his and the Elrics' presence was costing the others. He'd even sought her out at the bonfire before they'd roasted marshmallows and apologized for what had happened to Kitten. Alphonse, too, had thanked her for helping get him out of the hospital -- he didn't mean to be so much trouble, really. Considering he was wearing that kilt getup and looking absolutely squishable when he turned those enormous, penitent puppy eyes on her, Heist had forgiven the kid and promised no hard feelings in the space of about five seconds. Even Ed, the most guarded around her, was at least cordial when they crossed paths. Heist supposed if she was going to be running for her life from a sadistic, two-faced, impeccably dressed time-traveling murderer, there were worse people she could have been stuck with.

Mandar came to mind.

0o0o0

Heist made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as she followed Reilly into their room, sidestepping Ducky as he unrolled the sleeping bag he kept in his van and narrowly missing the pillow Tom had snagged from one of the beds and tossed in his direction. Entering the bathroom with a sigh, she tried not to think about when the last time was that it had seen a bottle of bleach. Their overnight accommodations were less than ideal, but staying off Bond's radar meant that options were going to be limited for a while. She changed into her pajamas and finished getting ready for bed as fast as she could. Opening the door, she found Reilly and Tom each lounged out on one of the two beds, the evening news turned on low. They alternated between munching on the last of a bag of pretzels and throwing the broken pieces at Ducky's immobile form.

"It's amazing," Reilly said, moving over to make room for Heist, her eyes never leaving Ducky. "Tom went to ask if the TV would bother him, but he was already dead to the world. We even tested the alarm clock -- twice. He didn't flinch."

Heist quirked a grin and slid under the sheets. "That's Ducks for you. He could sleep through the Apocalypse and all he'd do is ask where everyone went."

"Funny," Tom sighed, "I thought the past few days _was_ the Apocalypse."

Reilly stifled a laugh as she grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. No sooner had the door closed then the mother of all godawful noises cut through the relative quiet in the room. Heist's blood ran cold as a thousand different worst-case scenarios sped through her mind. In the next bed over, Tom jumped up and fumbled with something on the nightstand. Reilly poked her head out of the bathroom, alarm etched on her face. A heartbeat later, Tom had snatched something up, and the assault on their ears ceased.

"Hello?" Tom inquired into the room's phone receiver.

"Good gods, that was the phone ringer?!" Reilly exclaimed.

"Apparently so," Heist replied, heart still thumping wildly somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

Tom nodded a couple of times, answered in the affirmative, and hung up. "Well," he said, laying back down on his bed, "Maes, Ed and Al are settled in next door."

"They could have pounded on the wall, it would have been quieter," Reilly mused, disappearing into the bathroom again.

Tom gave Heist a lopsided grin. "At least we know the phone works."

"Right," she agreed. And then, almost as one, they both leaned over to check on the other occupant in their room, the only one who hadn't spoken a word since the first minute he'd entered. Lying on his stomach, pretzel bits strewn around his head, the Duck Lord slept on.

With that note, Heist said her good nights and rolled over, facing the wall. She was exhausted, and rightfully so; she had only slept a few hours the previous night. She'd stayed up longer than she'd intended talking with Llyn on the Branch's second floor balcony. Having been woken up at an ungodly time to go joyriding around the country hadn't helped, either. As tired as she was, though, she remained awake. Heist kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep as Reilly eased into bed and Tom took over the bathroom. When he finished, she heard him move around, checking the door and clicking off lights, whispering a final good night. A little while after that, she heard him switch off the TV. The sounds of deep, even breathing soon filled the room.

Some time later, Ducky rolled over and with half a snort, woke up. Heist heard him fumble his way through the dark room to his bag, then to the bathroom. He retraced his steps and, amazingly, Heist heard a few careful crunches as Ducks found a late-night snack in one of the pretzel pieces that had landed in his sleeping bag. At least she hoped it had been one that had landed _in_ the bag.

The crunching finally stopped, but Heist didn't think Ducky had fallen back asleep and she made her move. Sliding out of bed, she crept silently along until she was standing at the foot of his sleeping bag, the tips of her toes just barely brushing its edge. She waited until she heard a slight sigh, and he unzipped the bag to make room for her.

"Come on," he whispered and she stretched out next to him on the floor. "What are we, ten?"

"I couldn't sleep," Heist whispered back.

"Obviously." Ducky retorted quietly. A few moments later, "I can't sleep now, either."

"You thinking about anything?"

"Oh, nothing in particular... mostly about how completely screwed my life has become in the past couple of months."

"Yeah," Heist breathed out in agreement.

Ducky rolled over to face her, even though they couldn't really see much of anything. "I'm sorry I dragged you into all this."

Heist didn't answer right away, her thoughts instead wandering to Sidney and her own involvement in this mess without Ducky's help.

"Hey, Heist?" Ducky inquired softly. "Are we... are we okay?"

She drew in a deep breath and smiled blindly into the black. "Does a traveling carnival have freaks?"

Suppressing a giggle, the two rearranged themselves as best they could in a more comfortable position. "You know, Hellspawn," Ducky whispered, poking Heist's side, "the least you could have done was brought your pillow and blanket to this shindig."

"Shut it, Tuckandroll. What are we, ten?"

0o0o0

Sidney watched as the array he'd etched into the bare ground burst to life at the edges, ignoring the scent of rain-soaked garbage as he monitored his work on the one dry section of pavement available to him. The bright blue fire of the alchemic reaction tightened and collapsed upon itself as it moved through each concentric circle, igniting the glyphs and symbols inside each section briefly. As the transmutation moved inward, the pair of objects in the center that had once been plain scrap metal shifted and twisted in on themselves, taking a new shape entirely.

As he monitored his work carefully, he recalled another alchemist who'd had arrays tattooed on his palms. The idea had its merits, but Sidney had never needed to keep his array on him in so... _crudely_ permanent of a manner before. There was a time when no one could touch the Stealthworks Alchemist, after all. His fist clenched as he recalled the incident of a mere few days past, and how easily the Fullmetal bastard had managed to disarm him in the confusion.

It was shameful. James Sidney Bond had practiced his trade as much as he dared, but he'd become damnably soft. The brat had stolen a march on him, but the weak and ragged Elric wouldn't be able to do it again. He was making sure of that.

He could have made a visit to a tattoo artist; he certainly had the money for it. He wasn't as naively stupid as Reilly and her cohorts, putting all his funds in one place that could be blocked at the whim of the government he'd briefly worked for. The money he'd squirreled, smuggled, and hidden away was as accessible as the marker in his pocket, and it would be child's play to get the funds he needed for the simple geometric patterns that made his trademark alchemy work.

But people talked. And if the Elric brats had run to Branch, as he suspected, the bitch would be hot on his trail the instant he risked going to the loose-lipped morons who wielded the tattoo needles in this area. Besides, he had no desire to deal with the lackluster attitudes of people in this foul world. It would be far too easy for the mouth-breathing slug that he would inevitably encounter to make a fatal mistake.

Fatal for the tattoo artist, anyway. Just exceptionally bothersome for Sidney.

The idea of cutting the arrays into his palms had crossed his mind, but the fact of the matter was, blood was slick and he dared not risk a knife slipping in his red-saturated fingers. A mistake wouldn't do; the arrays had to be perfect. That left one choice. No questions would be asked, because Sidney could do it all himself. No witnesses to eliminate, and the Fullmetal brat, his weakling brother, and Hughes, that whoreson of an investigative officer, would not be able to disarm him the next time he confronted them.

He gazed through the mouth of the alley and across the street at the motel with the gaudy western theme: split-rail fence surrounding the lot, sickly orange and eye-searing green neon lights trimming the roof, fake cactus in pots along the walkway, and a sign with a bilious yellow horse. All but one window was dark as the blissfully ignorant slumbered, blanketed in a false sense of security. The single insomniac in room 132 wasn't Sidney's concern -- not unless he became exceptionally nosy. Chances were, though, he was oblivious and would remain so even as his life slipped away from him tomorrow.

He was far more interested in rooms 133 and 134. The windows were dark like most of the others, but he held no illusions that the occupants were sleeping soundly.

_Good._

He'd been led to this place by someone still within the organization, but he knew that source of information could dry up without warning and planned accordingly. Bugs and tracking devices were remarkably easy to acquire, and contrary to the impression he'd given Heist, Sidney was quite adept at this world's technology. He'd bide his time and keep them under observation. Mr. Insomniac would merely be the first in a series of warnings that will only come to an end when Fullmetal and his precious little brother agreed to his demands.

The array had faded to a dull glow, and the pair of metal disks in the middle were now the right shape and white-hot. Sidney leaned forward with his palms down and flat. Even from a distance of two feet, he could feel the intense heat and his flesh was already beginning to blister.

The pain would only last for a little while. And the taste of sweet victory would dim it all to a vague, unpleasant memory.

0o0o0

**June 8, 2006**

Sidney slipped into room 133 and shut the door behind him. Giving himself a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom and to force the throbbing in his palms to quiet, he listened for the maid. She'd only been two rooms away when Fullmetal and his cohorts finally roused themselves from bed and out into the sunlight, and it had taken him as long as it took for her to finish that room and leave to move on to the next to pick the lock. His fingers had kept fumbling the picks and he silently cursed whoever chose a motel that still used old-fashioned hardware locks. Counterfeiting a card-key would have been a slow, time-consuming process, but it would have been easier and quicker than the clumsy manipulating of thin metal rods with swollen, burnt and bandaged hands.

No matter. It just meant he had less time than he'd like to do what he needed.

His gaze landed on an open lap-top that was running lines of white code on a black background, and he stepped over to take a look. What he saw made no sense to him, but the name of the file that was compiling was enough to make him smile coldly.

_The genius brat isn't very imaginative after all,_ he thought. _He didn't take long to get started on this, either. Won't it be lovely to see his face when he finally reaches for the Holy Grail and comes away with blood on his hands._

Sidney heard the vacuum start up in the room next door and decided he'd wasted enough time. Laying the laptop carefully on its side, he popped the door that held the battery open and placed the tracker inside. He would love to add a remote key-logger to the computer, just so he could track Fullmetal's progress, but there wasn't enough time to install it and cover his tracks. He had one last thing to do before he could slip out.

_Predictable,_ he thought when he spied a cellphone on the nightstand between the beds. There was no mistaking who should have been carrying it -- he'd counted on it being left behind, in fact. The thing was a garish shade of metallic green and covered in stickers, and when he powered it up, it chirped a most obnoxious tune. _So very, very predictable._

0o0o0o0o0o0

**June 10, 2006  
Location: Southern Illinois**

"Brother, can you scoot over a little?"

"I'm not even touching you."

"But it's hot and you're sprawled all over the seat."

"Am not."

"Are too."

Reilly ground her teeth from the center seat in the Ninjavan. The boys had been sniping at each other for almost half an hour and there was no sign of abatement. It didn't help that they were trapped in the middle of traffic jam on an elevated highway on what must have been the hottest day of summer. The A/C couldn't handle the strain and crapped out an hour ago, and now any available window that could be opened, was -- not that it helped any. Heist had thought to unlatch the back doors and Hughes had slid the side door open... then promptly fell asleep.

"All right, boys," Ducky tried to tease from the front, but even he had an edge of irritation to his voice. "Behave or I'll turn this car right around."

"I'd like to see that," Tom muttered. Somewhere among the detritus and computer components littering the van, he'd found an old flier and was using it as a fan in an attempt to keep cool, but all he was doing was moving the scorching air in through the passenger window and circulating it around the metal box.

"Ed, _please,_" Al whined as he shoved at the older Elric, "move _over_."

"Hey!" Heist protested, and shoved Ed back the other way.

"Knock it off!" Ed shouted.

Reilly sighed and buried her face in her hand. "Ducky, please tell me we're about to reach the end of this gridlock?"

"I could, but I'd be lying."

She whimpered. Nightmare images of spending eternity cooped up in the Ninjavan -- in this exact spot -- viciously tore at her over-heated brain. She needed some sort of escape, and soon. Glancing over at Hughes softly snoring in the seat next to her, she envied the personality traits that kept him and Tom so mellow. _Valium,_ she thought. _Valium would be good_. Her vision slid past the relaxed posture of the sleeping man, to the outside world. Down the embankment and just beyond reach (or at least beyond the ability to maneuver to an exit), was civilization. Life as she knew it hadn't ended _out there._

She spied an electronics super-store and sighed. In there would be all sorts of lovely toys that would keep several hot and cranky people occupied and she could enjoy blissful silence. _Too bad it's way over there_, she thought, then almost smacked herself in the forehead a moment later. Instead, she mentally cursed herself for stupidity. The store was probably about a quarter of a mile away... if that. Leaning over in her seat to glance ahead, she noted that an exit wasn't too far away, either. This gridlock couldn't last forever...

She lightly punched Hughes in the arm, startling him awake, and said, "You're coming with me." Then she stepped over him and hopped out of the van.

He shot a confused glance from Ducky to Tom, neither of whom offered anything other than shrugs, then silently followed.

Tom leaned out of the window and said, "Reilly? What in the blue blazes are you doing?"

"Sanity control," she said, then poked her head back into the van and glared at the boys, who stared back owlishly, but at least silently -- for the moment. "You two? Not another word until I get back." Then she pointed at Tom and said, "He has a gun and standing orders to shoot if either of you so much as blink, got it?" To Ducky, she added, "You. Meet us at Best Buy as soon as you can get off here." With a final warning glance at the boys, she spun and headed down the embankment, _expecting_ Hughes to follow.

By the time she felt the air conditioning of the store, her temper had cooled somewhat. She made a bee-line for the video games, and came to a stop at the locked glass cabinet holding the Gameboys. Hughes had kept up with her, although he'd been so quiet the entire trip, she'd almost forgotten he was there until he nearly slammed into her.

"Okay, Reilly," he said mildly, "have you calmed down enough to tell me what we're doing?"

"Ed and Al don't like being cooped up, do they?"

"They never did," he chuckled. "So... what now?"

"What do you think about a pair of these?" She glanced back at him and pointed at the display. "Think you can help me pick out a couple of games that would keep the two of them happy for awhile?"

Hughes perused the selection and then pointed out a cartridge with figures wielding comically large weapons and splattered with brilliant colors... mostly red. "Violence and mayhem," he said. "Perfect."

Reilly found the info on the game and scanned through it quickly. "It's rated 'mature', though. Al's a bit young."

Hughes snorted, then quickly tried to cover it up by clearing his throat and pasting on a more serious expression that didn't fool Reilly in the least. "You're forgetting that technically, he's eighteen." He leaned close, and added softly, "And this stuff would be mild compared to what they've actually seen."

Reilly felt herself suddenly get colder and shivered as she recalled some of the horror stories Ed had told her of their lives in their own world. "G-good point... I guess. Al seems so innocent most of the time." She patted him on the back and said, "You get to pick the games then. I need to find something else." She strolled off as Hughes grinned and waved down a young man in a blue shirt with the store's logo on it.

She'd originally intended to see about a pair of MP3 players -- at least one for Ed, who had become rather addicted to the little bit of blues and gospel Reilly was able to escape with -- but found herself looking at computers, instead.

It was something else Ed had become rather obsessed with -- writing some sort of program. Although he was tight-lipped as hell about just what it was supposed to be -- beyond general grousing about her illogical filing system, anyway -- she suspected he was attempting to create a simulated Gate. _Why_ was a question she doubted Ed would answer -- or perhaps couldn't, considering the passage fee -- but it meant that he glommed onto her laptop for long hours at a time, and she had to threaten him with bodily harm just to check her email.

She was reading the specs on a likely prospect when Hughes caught up with her, carrying a hand-basket loaded down with video games and accessories... and a rather amused Ducky in tow.

"Look what I found," Hughes said, jerking a thumb back at the younger man.

"Figures this is what you went after," Ducky said. "Traffic started moving about twenty minutes ago, and right now the rest of the gang are at Starbucks, cooling down and behaving." He gazed over the laptop display and immediately pointed at one with a titanium case. "That's the one you want."

"What makes you think I plan to buy one?"

Ducky and Hughes both gave her identical _don't-bullshit-me_ looks, and Ducky said, "C'mon, Reilly. You've been bitching that Ed keeps bogarting your computer."

"He's right," Hughes interjected.

"Hush, you," Reilly said, not completely serious. Then she turned to look over the laptop and nodded. "Looks like it's made to withstand some abuse. But what about static?"

"Shielded," Ducky said. "Somewhat. I doubt it'll survive any better than your desktop did, if Ed decides he has to transmute something nearby."

"Let's pray he never does, then," Reilly said and found the boxed and sealed version of the display model.

Half an hour later, and quite a bit lighter financially, the three of them strolled across the parking lot and into the Starbucks with their booty. Dumping the bags in Ed and Al's laps, Reilly said, "Merry Christmas. Now stop driving me nuts."

"Christmas?" Al asked absently -- far more intrigued with what was in the bags.

"Just smile and nod, Al," Ed said in a stage whisper. "And don't make eye contact, she'll think it's a threat and bite."

At that, Al's head shot up, and he stared at Reilly as if he wasn't certain his brother was joking.

Reilly reached over him and aimed an open palm at the back of Ed's head. "Behave."

Ed dodged the slap and cast a sideways glance up at her. His eyes were alight and he was smiling warmly. "Thanks, Reilly," he said holding a still-sealed game up. Then he flushed and added, "And... I'm sorry. About earlier."

Al slid from his seat, and wrapped his arms around her in a enthusiastic embrace. "Me too."

Blinking and stunned, she stiffened a moment, then relaxed as a warm-fuzzy feeling washed over her. She hugged Al back, burying her nose in a head full of bronze hair that smelled of sunshine and innocence.

0o0o0o0o0o0

----  
From: armoredalchemist  
Re: Get out of Jail Free

_Hey Gene!_

I got your email! So you're home now? That's awesome! Look, I've been told by some of our friends that I should switch emails for security purposes or something like that. Long story. Heist said to keep an eye on your junk folder if you're using filters which, she said, as a fellow hacker you're probably already doing. Don't worry, you'll recognize my message.

- Al  
----

**June 12, 2006  
Location: Central Indiana**

Al scanned the display in front of him. Most of the items were things he'd never heard of -- and looked positively nauseating. He poked the slick package labeled _'Gummi Worms Extra Sour!'_, and curled his lip. At his side, Ed was rapidly filling his arms with a vast array of snacks. Long used to his brother's slightly unnatural appetite, Al was still amazed at the sheer volume of food Ed was managing to balance.

At the back of the gas station, Reilly was pondering the drink aisle. "Al, do you want me to grab you something?" she queried.

He smiled. "A Mountain Dew please."

Ed paused in his exploration to examine Al quizzically. "What's a Mountain Do?"

Al grinned widely. "Reilly, Ed wants one too!"

Reilly looked back at him over the shelves, wrinkling her brow uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

Al nodded vigorously.

Turning back, Reilly grabbed a couple of acid green bottles. "Well, at least it isn't Red Bull."

Ed and Al both stopped to look at her. "Red Bull?" they asked simultaneously.

At the far end of the station, next to the bottles of oil and packages of windshield wipers, Tom looked up sharply. "Reilly, don't you dare!"

Al saw her smile as she turned to regard the older man. "Trust me, I'd never do that." As Tom turned back to grab a few bottles of oil, Reilly started for the counter. "I have no reason to, Ducky already bought a box."

Al and Ed regarded each other as Tom groaned aloud. "Red Bull?" Al asked again.

Ed merely shook his head in confusion. "Everybody from this era is nuts," he muttered, grabbing a bag of chips and heading for the counter.

As Al turned to follow him, another package caught his eye, and he grinned wickedly. "Hey Brother, are you sure you don't want one more thing?" When Ed turned, Al held up a clear package containing a couple of yellow cakes.

Ed glared darkly, his eyes promising retribution, and Al chuckled as he prepared to put the package back. Then he paused. "Actually, these look kinda good..." Following the rest of the group as they converged on the counter, Al laid his single purchase next to Ed's massive pile.

Reilly glanced at him as they started to check out. "Al sweetheart, did you find something?"

Al nodded as he showed her his solitary purchase. "Yeah, Twinkies."

0o0o0o0o0o0

----  
From: pokerninja  
Re: Unbelievable Animated Teddy Bears

_Hey Gene,_

It's Al again. Sorry for the email switch, but we're trying to be careful not to tip anyone off as to where we are. At first Heist wasn't even sure I should respond to your message, but Ducky said you were ok. Ducky, that computer guy who was working at the hospital for a while -- did you ever see him? He liked really bright Hawaiian shirts. Still does actually.

Anyway, he found some program of yours when he was fixing the hospital system. Said it was pretty good, too, so he left it alone. Well, he didn't know it was yours until I mentioned you later, all he said was that it originated from our ward, and there weren't that many people who could have written it. He vouched for your coding coolness or something like that, so I guess that means it's ok to email each other. Oh, Heist says to take the proper precautions in erasing these messages though. She says you should know what that means.

Seriously, though, I probably won't be writing you too often. We've fallen into some pretty dangerous stuff, and the last thing I want is to get you involved, too. More involved, at least.

So, you're aiming for an unmotorized chair? How's the therapy going?

- Al  
----

**June 19th, 2006  
Location: Southwestern Ohio**

It was late and the rest of his roomies were sound asleep –- the perfect time for Ed to lose himself in the endless lines of code he was modifying. The surface of the small desk in the motel room was impossible to see beneath the piles of books, rolls of maps, scattered sheafs of notes filled with unintelligible scribbles that only Ed could decipher, and the laptop. A female voice singing about getting a little _'r-e-s-p-e-c-t'_ was the only thing that reached his ears through the headphones, blocking the soft snores and mumbled words of the people sleeping nearby, and drowning out the bantering and laughing of the card game in the room next door.

It had taken only a couple of weeks for Ed to disentangle all the data Reilly had collected over the years about ley-lines and Gates, a little longer than that to garner enough understanding of programing to even begin to create a simple filing system for all of the information. Now he was refining it all, setting up cross-references, filling in extra notes, and trying to make it easily accessible. Unfortunately, writing a simple program wasn't so simple and Ed kept slamming into walls that took days to track down and correct in order to get around. Glitches, Ducky had called them.

He rubbed his eyes and then took a sip of the Mountain Dew that had gone warm. The problem he was facing right now was deceptively small. One file -- that's all it was, but an important one -- wasn't showing up in the program. Ed could find it manually, but it steadfastly refused to appear whenever he tried to call it up via his filing system. If someone else were to access the data, they could get the information they needed perhaps, since that particular file had little to do with Reilly's research, but it was the lynch pin for something else entirely... something vital to Ed.

He'd been at it for hours and it was beginning to wear on him. Even with all the caffeine and sugar in the soda, his eyes were starting to droop. It didn't help that the next song he heard was soft and soothing. _I need to do something about this playlist,_ he thought, just before he rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes.

Warmth and a sense of being anesthetized blanketed him as he was peripherally aware the music had changed suddenly. The rich, woody tones of a flute wove through jumbled, rapidly moving images filled with ravens, alchemic symbols and bizarre chimera-like creatures that could only exist in dreams.

Wind whipped at him and he could see the landscape fly past beneath in a gold and green blur. The terrain quickly went from flat plains, ripe with wheat, to lush, forested mountains before he found himself standing at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a hidden, rocky canyon. On the floor of the small area was a circle of stones, the formation of which tugged at his memory. He knew this place! But there was something different about it. He thought there would be more trees, and not scrub pines and cedars, either. They should be taller, with wide, leathery leaves, or fan-like, fibrous fronds.

He needed to take a closer look, and he'd no more let the thought form when he stepped off the edge of the cliff and started to plummet--

"Brother!"

Ed snapped awake to the worried face of Al hovering over him. "What's wrong?" Ed asked as he rubbed his eyes and started to sit up. The horrible, green shag carpet felt sticky under his hand and it was only then he realized that he wasn't in his chair anymore. "How'd I get here?" he said, scowling.

Relief smoothed his younger brother's features as Al sat back and helped Ed up. "You fell out of the chair," he said, attempting to suppress a snicker and failing.

Ed darted an embarrassed glance around -- Heist was little more than a curled up lump under the blankets in the bed at the far side of the room, and Ducky was dead to the world on the floor at the foot. Neither of them looked like they'd stirred the slightest at the disturbance. Dignity still intact, Ed let out his breath in a gust and then smiled. "I guess I'm tireder than I thought." He came to his feet and stretched. "Let me shut everything down and I'll come to be--"

He'd only caught a glimpse before it was gone, but it sent a chill through him... a spot in the darkest corner of the room near the ceiling. Blacker than black, roiling and writhing like spilled ink as it receded into the night.

Ed's alarm must have shown on his face, because Al spun, slipping into a defensive stance instinctively and glancing around him, "What is it, Brother?" he whispered.

Ed took a deep breath, forcing his heart to slow down, and ruffled his younger sibling's hair. "Nothing, Al," he said, forcing his tone to sound light. "It was nothing. I'm just really wiped."

Al studied him for a moment, skeptical, but didn't voice any concerns. "Yeah. You should come to bed."

"On my way," Ed said as he shut the laptop down.

As Al crawled back under the covers and cocooned himself to the point all that stuck out was a tuft of brown hair and a pair of big, grey eyes, Ed glared at the corner once more. _What do you want?_ he wondered.

0o0o0o0o0o0

----

Re: Unbelievable Animated Teddy Bears -- Stonehenge-is-in-Caledonia my ass

_Are you kidding me, Al?!? One of these days you're going to tell me how you make friends._

Heist? You know Heist? As in, _**THE**__ Heist? Hacker God Extraordinaire? Or, rather, if I'm reading your message right, Hacker Goddess? Dude, put in a good word for me, Heist is my programming muse. I kiss the code she compiles._

Just, uh, don't show her this message.

Yeah, therapy's coming along. My dad said he'd take me anywhere in the world I want to go when I'm ready. After he gets back from... wherever he is right now, I can't remember. So who knows, maybe next year I'll be taking a trip down under. You'd like Australia, they've got a ton of really cute native animals.

Gene  
----

**July 3, 2006  
Location: Northern Michigan**

Hughes closed the cell and gave it a befuddled, unblinking stare long enough for Reilly to become concerned. She set her open book face down on her lap -- the book that only a moment ago had her so engrossed that she had barely even noticed when Tom, Ed and Al had wandered past with fishing poles, a bucket of bait and other accouterments they'd acquired from Goddess-only-knows-where.

When the man sitting in the chair across from her remained in that dumbstruck state for longer than Reilly thought was healthy, she leaned forward and peered at him, letting the book fall from her lap and lose her place. She was aware enough to know he'd been talking to Heist on the phone and that always elicited a specific range of reactions -- usually anywhere from annoyance to frustration -- but never silent bewilderment. "Hughes?"

He jerked out of his stunned musing and blinked at her. "That was Heist," he said. "Apparently she and Ducky got hung up at the pizza place. Dinner'll be a little late."

"Ducky's probably making some poor arcade game scream for mercy on a single quarter," she sighed as she leaned forward and bent to pick up her book. At Hughes' apprehensive look she paused in mid-reach and felt alarm growing somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. "Please tell me they haven't gotten themselves into trouble."

"It depends on how you define 'trouble'," he said neutrally, but the slight twitch in one cheek told her that he was struggling with a strong emotional reaction.

Just _what_ that emotion was, Reilly couldn't decipher yet. "What now?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "You know, as long as I'm in this world, I'll never understand how those two keep running into people they know…" He waved a hand about the small cabin the Geek Squad was currently sharing. "...even out in the middle of nowhere."

Reilly scowled. "Just spill it, already."

He sighed and sagged, then gave her a confused smile. "Apparently Heist is acquainted with the manager at the pizza place. Or rather, he knows her… by reputation, at least. Anyhow, the store's computer went down and he drafted her into tracking down the problem." He shrugged and went from perplexed to pleased. "Dinner's on him."

Reilly wasn't buying it. Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward again. In response, the much larger man -- who could stare down an assassin, risk life and limb against pissed-off, diminutive, automail wielding alchemists, even wear a kilt without an ounce of trepidation -- pressed himself back into the chair.

"Hughes," Reilly said, a dangerous tone tingeing her voice.

He swallowed and gave her an edgy laugh. "Um, well? Seems that while Ducky was waiting for Heist to work her magic, the restaurant's 'entertainment' found themselves one short and there was… a party scheduled."

Reilly still couldn't understand what Hughes was so worried about. Ducky could at least carry a passable tune; just don't ask him to play any instruments. Therefore, she concluded, there was something else and Hughes wasn't telling. But what could be so terrible that the man would be afraid to just spit it out? What kind of trouble could Ducky get into entertaining a bunch of--

She suddenly felt like someone had taken her stomach and tied it into a pretzel knot. "Just what exactly is this 'entertainment'?" she asked carefully, then cringing because she had a nasty feeling that she already knew the answer.

"It seems that the person in question is known only as 'Kangaroo Bob'."

Reilly wasn't certain if she should be horrified or laugh her ass off. She covered her face and tried in vain to suppress the giggles threatening to bubble up. "Oh God. Or maybe I should say, _'Crikey'_. Ducky in 'Croc-hunter' mode? That's just… disturbing." She managed to get the giggles under control before they spewed out and looked back up at Hughes. "We're going to have to suffer through weeks of a very bad Australian accent."

"That's not the half of it."

Reilly felt herself pale. "It gets worse? How can it _possibly_ get worse?"

Hughes cleared his throat and it was then she saw the tremble of his chin and the twitch of his lips as he struggled valiantly to keep from laughing. "Kangaroo Bob is… a kangaroo. Literally." He hesitated, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse into guffaws. "And yes, it gets even worse. There was some trouble while he was playing to the kids."

Reilly's humor fled. "Aw, shit. Are we going to have to bail him out for drop-kicking some demon spawn?"

The chin-quiver became more pronounced and Hughes' lips looked like they'd developed a mind of their own as he shook his head, unable to speak at the moment. Eventually he dropped his face into his hands and Reilly watched as his shoulders shook in silence.

"I shouldn't laugh," he mumbled finally. "It's tragic, really. And humiliating as all hell, but…" He looked up and rubbed the tears from his eyes. "Seems that while he was in the suit, someone stole his clothes."

Reilly stared. Her mouth flapped open and closed as she tried to form words, but her brain had locked up and was now mulishly refusing to operate in any coherent manner as the absurdity of the situation pressed against the mental dam she'd erected in self-defense.

"Anyhow, they should be back any minute," Hughes stammered through burbling sounds she assumed were brought on by his own attempts at control. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than they heard the Ninjavan pull up.

Reilly opened her book back up and settled herself deep into the couch. "Well, we can't laugh at him."

"We can't?"

Reilly gave him a mock glower and pitched the paperback at him.

It missed him by a foot and he cocked a brow. "You'd never make it in Intelligence with aim like that."

She only had enough time to stick her tongue out at him before Heist danced in with a stack of pizzas. "Greetings, fellow Geekites! I bring the true banquet of the Gods… free food!"

As the blue-haired woman dropped them on the counter and started throwing up lids, Reilly counted at least eight large pizzas. "Well, there's enough to feed Ed and Al, at least."

Hughes was up and peering over Heist's shoulder at the contents of each box with mild disappointment. "What? No anchovies?"

Heist glanced back at him and grimaced. "Dude! Those are the nastiness! You'd be the only one eating. _Ick!_" This last was emphasized by a full-body shudder that bordered on a palsy.

Hughes feigned a wounded pout and said, "But I like anchovies!"

Reilly ignored the exchange to stare expectantly at the door. "No Ducky?"

"He's still in the van," Heist said. "Said something about never coming out again."

There was a muffled thump at the door and as Reilly went to get it, Heist added, "Or maybe it was that he needed help out. I don't remember."

Reilly cast an annoyed glance back then opened the door.

She had prepared herself for the sight. She really had. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough and she had to draw from somewhere in the ancient past and racial memory for the stoicism born of aeons of hunter/gatherer tribes, ice ages, semi-nomadic lifestyles, and childbirth without anesthetic. And yet, even that wasn't enough to stop the fit of shocked laughter that exploded from deep within her solar plexus at the sight of a very disgruntled hacker in a plush kangaroo suit.

And it wasn't any normal kangaroo suit (if such a thing was possible), but a deep, royal purple with a bright, horrendously... _blindingly_ pink chest, and incredibly long, thick feminine lashes over enormous, shiny black eyes. The incongruity of the stormy expression on Ducky's face embedded in the throat of the costume created a surreal image that was made all the more so by the fact that he was leaning back on the tail with the enormous feet of the costume propped on the heels and his plushy, purple arms crossed somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

"Took you long enough," Ducky grumbled as he rocked back then flipped onto his 'feet'. There was no walking in that suit either, and Reilly snorted and coughed when she stepped aside to let the hacker hop in.

She didn't dare look back at what was making the terrible choking noise that came from the general area of the kitchen, either. She knew that if she did and saw the look on Hughes' face she would lose it entirely.

Once Ducky was inside she tried to shut the door, but it bounced back and she had to fight his tail out of the way to get it closed. "So… Um… Do they know who stole your clothes?" she stammered.

Ducky bounced further into the living room, one huge, fuzzy thigh brushing against the newspapers on the coffee table and sweeping them onto the floor. When he tried to shift out of the way in the tight space, his tail swung around and Reilly barely had enough time to jump over it and stumble out of the way before it toppled the spindly end table next to the chair, spilling a glass of soda all over her book.

"I'm going to have nightmares for weeks," Hughes said dryly. "Seriously. I think I've been permanently traumatized."

"I can recommend a therapist," Heist said around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. She remained calm, having had more time and warning to reconcile herself to the shock, but there was still a glimmer of amusement in her smirk.

"Hughes," Reilly sputtered, giving him a dirty look. At least she tried. Instead she was pretty sure it was hardly as intimidating as she was attempting.

"Yes ma'am?" He hung his head, but Reilly was in no way fooled into thinking he was anywhere near chagrined at this point. In fact she was fairly certain she heard him sniffling as he choked off a fresh case of the giggles.

She finally gave up and spread her arms out in a helpless gesture. "Please… just… shut up for now?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, then he sagged against the counter and started shaking in silent mirth, which was followed closely by not-so silent mirth, then became a full-blown belly laugh that made his knees weak.

"Oh sure," Ducky grumbled. "You can laugh. It's not you in this thing." Then he huffed and started to hop toward toward the bedroom...

...Past the open back door, where Ed, Al and Tom were returning from their fishing expedition.

The three of them froze for a brief instant as their brains tried in vain to wrap around the image in front of them, then Ed busted out with a high-pitched cackle that might've made Ducky proud -- had he not been the subject of amusement. Al skipped past the giggles and went straight to a severe case of hiccups and Tom, while not quite as robust, nonetheless was shaking and wiping his eyes.

Ducky glowered and leaned back on the tail; once again his fuzzy purple arms crossed over his chest and the huge feet propped up on his heels. It appeared, at first, that the hacker was simply resigning himself to wait out the storm... until he rocked back, using the tail for balance...

Tom was the only one of the three who had the presence of mind to get out of the way and he wisely took the quickest means of escape available... darting through the door and ducking out of the line of fire.

Ed and Al weren't so fortunate.

Ed went sailing through the door first, ripping out the screen, splintering the frame and never touching the stoop or the two steps leading up to it. He landed with a thud on the ground, bounced twice, then rolled to a stop a few feet away in a cloud of dry grass and dust.

Al turned his amusement onto his brother, pointing and coughing and sputtering through his hiccups as Ed weakly got to his knees.

"Ohshit!" Ed blurted suddenly, and Al spun around...

...in time to meet a pair of long, fuzzy feet slamming into his chest.

The doorway, having been cleared by Ed just a moment before, offered no resistance to the small, brown-haired projectile being shot through, and so he managed to stay aloft for a fraction of a second longer and a few feet further. He came back to Earth on top of his older brother, knocking the wind out of Ed and tumbling both of them ass-over-tea-kettle in a tangle of limbs.

When the boys finally figured out which extremities belonged to whom, they staggered to their feet, glanced at 'Kangaroo Ducky' and immediately collapsed back into the dirt in a gale of laughter.

Amidst the gaiety, Reilly heard the distinctive midi tone of Tom's cell playing _'Secret Agent Man'_ and everyone went still as they listened to his end of the conversation. There was only one person who belonged to that ringtone and she never had good news.

Tom stepped inside as he closed the phone, a grim expression settling on his craggy face. "Party's over folks," he said softly.


	32. Ch 25b Move em On Head em Up Rawhide!

_**Balance of Power - Chapter 25 - Part Two**_

**"Move 'em on, Head 'em Up... Rawhide!"  
Arc One: Chapter 25  
Balance of Power**

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie SPOILER HEAVY and slightly AU**

----  
Re: don't bother tracking this, it already doesn't exist

_Gene, _

Heist here. I'm flattered, really. I can't say I've ever been someone's muse before. Sorry, I was reading over Al's shoulder (you know how it is, keeping an eye on the newbs). There's some instructions enclosed for how to cover your ass and encrypt your steps when messaging us; use it for the next year at least, or unless I tell you otherwise. Al and Ducky might endorse you, but it's not just their lives --and yours-- at stake, it's mine too. Nothing personal.  
---- 

**July 7, 2006  
Location: Northeastern Minnesota**

"No, thanks," Maes said patiently for the third time. "I'm not really in the mood for a burger."

"You sure?" Ed wheedled. "We'll be driving for a while. Don't you want something to keep you going?"

Maes snorted. "Unlike you and Al, I'm fully capable of lasting more than an hour after breakfast before I need to eat again." He peered into the window of the fast food joint, and sighed. "But I see I'm in the minority on that. Look at that lineup. You'd better get in there so we don't take even longer to get going."

Al hesitated, glancing from the long lineup to the man's resigned face. "Maybe we could wait a bit longer...," he ventured, wincing as he awaited his brother's reaction.

At the sight of Ed's horrified expression, Maes laughed. "And I'd never hear the end of it till we could stop somewhere else. No, go on in, you two. We've got a few minutes while Reilly's at the drug store, anyway. I'll hang out next door and wait for you."

Ed stepped out of the way of a pedestrian on the sidewalk and craned his neck to look into the store next to the burger place. "In a ladies' shoe store, Hughes?" He grinned, giving the older man a sharp elbow in the ribs. "You started with the skirt, and now you want the heels to match, is that it?"

Maes leaned back to survey the row of store fronts along the downtown street. "All right, all right -- the pawn shop next door to _that._ And Ed?" He flashed a deadly grin. "You'd better get going. Right now. You can't eat a burger with two broken arms, now, can you?"

Ed's laughter followed him as he turned his back and headed for the pawn shop. Once he stepped inside, though, the outer world was effectively shut out. Places like this tended to be dim, quiet, and rather dingy, as he'd had reason to discover himself a time or two, his first year in this world. Maes paused to let his eyes adjust, and ran a finger along the back of an old wooden chair near the front of the store.

His finger came back coated in old, greasy dust. A hard shell guitar case laid open and empty on a dusty, chrome-framed table beside the chair, overlooked by a couple of brass table lamps. The overhead light was muted enough that he wished the lamps were plugged in. He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, nodded silently to the pale young man at the cash counter, and walked further into the store, hoping he didn't bump into anything.

He decided later that it was almost like a divine visitation. The shop remained dim and shadowed, its dark shelving units and low wooden ceiling beams serving to block most illumination from the streaked windows and the few light fixtures. Yet as he came to the center aisle and faced the back of the shop, a distant glow caught his attention and drew him irresistibly down the aisle toward it. A glass case, he realized, lit from inside, with two bright lamps hanging above, bathing it in radiance.

There's the light at the end of the tunnel, he chuckled to himself. Or the glow of divinity in the centre of a labyrinth. Or, he thought, maybe the white light those people talk about after a near death experience, when they come to terms with their life and become reconciled to their eventual death--

He stopped short, two feet away, the blood in his veins transforming to ice, and the hands in his pockets suddenly frozen and clammy. He couldn't seem to remember how to breathe.

His own death stared him in the face, cool and pure, almost serene in its self-assurance.

Glittering on a black velvet mat in the centre of the case, a set of throwing knives gleamed at him, light sparking like diamonds from their deadly sharp edges. So like his own knives were they, so like the ones he'd carried back in Amestris, that his own weapons could almost have followed him through the Gate and waited for him to discover them and seal his own fate.

Because that's what they were for, wasn't it? Maes yanked his hands from his pockets and lurched forward, palms meeting the top edge of the case, clawed fingers unconsciously seeking to gouge an opening into the glass. The knives were for him; he knew it as certainly as he knew his own name. Whatever doubts he might have entertained before, they had now vanished utterly. He would take Bond on, alone, and with these knives he might actually succeed. He _would_ succeed. These weapons -- his own familiar, personal weapons that had served him so well in so many dangerous situations -- would solve the problem of getting close enough to kill Bond before the man's damnable bombs exploded. He wouldn't have to get so close, now.

He couldn't possibly survive -- that was a given, considering the nature of his foe. But now he knew he'd be able to take Bond with him. The knives were a gift.

The photograph in his shirt pocket pressed against his heart like a lead weight: Gracia and Elysia almost five years ago now, waving at the camera, eyes sparkling at him. He still couldn't breathe. The photo had been a comfort and a torment to him, every moment of his life since he'd fallen through the Gate. If there were any chance, any chance at all that he might still find them again -- but no. Ed tried to hide what he was up to, but it was becoming pretty clear that the young man was trying to find a way to open another Gate. Knowing Ed, he'd obviously continue to try, and would probably pursue the obsession for his whole life but it wasn't going to happen, was it? Maes had to face the facts, even if Ed never entirely accepted them. There was a price to pay, to open a Gate, and none of them could get around that. And none of them would ever choose that route -- choose to murder someone for their own selfish reasons -- so they could get home. So whatever Ed tried, they would always run into that rock solid wall. They would never return home. Maes had to face reality. And even if it could happen, what sort of man would he be if he left Bond here to terrorize this world? Alden and Amber and Llyn, who had been dragged into this mess simply by accident, but were now in danger because of it? Tom and Ducky and Heist, who had taken on the rescue of Al as a challenge to their abilities, but had begun to lose so much as a result? _Reilly,_ whose entire life had been shattered, and whom he had failed so miserably in so many ways? How could he leave them to lose their lives to this monster from his own world while he returned happily to his loved ones without a backward glance?

Maes took off his glasses and ran the back of a hand across misted eyes. He couldn't do it, of course. He just couldn't leave them all to keep dealing with that horror themselves. Gracia and Elysia would never know. His girls already thought he was dead, and now they'd finally be right. Ed would rage when he found out what happened, but at least he and Al would understand, in the end.

And Roy. Roy would have understood, if he knew, probably better than anyone in either world.

The thought straightened Maes' back, and helped him blink the tears away and put his glasses back on. Time to do this, then, before Reilly or anyone else came to look for him. The lineup in the fast food joint hadn't been _that_ long.

He turned toward the front of the shop, and called for the pale young man to come and open the case for him. He pointed out what he wanted to buy, and was very pleased at the unwavering calm in his voice.

0o0o0o0o0o0

**July 11, 2006  
Location: Southern Nebraska**

"Al, c'mon, give me the remote."

Al remained where he was, standing on the bed, remote held high above his head as Ed leaned against him, reaching for it. It was just out of reach of his stretching fingers, so he jumped a little. The bed creaked ominously from the extra impact of the automail.

"Careful, Ed, you're going to break it," Hughes remarked from his stretched-out position on the other bed in the room, hands behind his head.

Reilly, nose buried in a magazine as she sprawled beside him, added from behind its pages, "Break the bed and we leave you behind to wash dishes and pay off the debt, Elric."

"You can't have the remote," Al laughed. "I want to watch the new episode--"

"But why?" Ed whined. "It's such a stupid show. The story's not plausible, and the characters don't even look like real people."

"Of course they don't," Al told him patiently. "They're not real, so they don't have to."

Ed stretched a couple more times, but each time, his brother managed to keep the remote away from him. At last he dropped down on the bed and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the propped up pillows. "All right, all right, have it your way," he grumbled.

Al plopped down beside him, leaning against his shoulder. "Thanks, Brother. This is an episode I haven't seen before, so I really wanted to watch it."

"Go ahead, then. I just don't understand it. Those implausible plots, all those kids with huge eyes -- why anyone would be interested in that anime stuff is a mystery to me."

0o0o0o0o0o0

----  
From: lquennel  
Re: You didn't think you'd get away that easy, did you?

_Honestly, Hellene, you entrance me half the night and leave without even telling me your name? I'm wounded, deeply wounded. Had to ask my darling Mam if she knew anything else about you, and I must say that I can't decide what impresses me more: your juvenile record or that fetching color you cover up under the blue. You try so hard with that secret identity, but you're interesting enough on your own._

I just thought to check up on you. It's morning here, whatever time zone you're in now, and I hope you had a lovely morning too. Send Ed my regards and make sure he takes care of the automail, and pass on the doctor's orders to Mr. Hughes as well. And take care yourself, with that madman about. It would be nice to see you again sometime, preferably in one piece and sparkling to see me.

Yours,   
Llyn   
----

**July 13th, 2006  
Location: Northeast Kansas**

"Well," Tom sighed, picking up the remote, "I guess it's time to get the bad news again."

"Do you have to?" Heist blurted. "Can't we have just one night without watching?"

"Sorry," he answered gently. "But we have to know how close behind us he is. We don't dare skip even one night--"

"I can't stand it -- I can't stand any of this!" the young woman burst out. "We run and run and never get a break, and he always _knows_! I can't stand hearing about it if we can't do anything. I am so, so _done!_ With everything!" She turned on her heel and rushed out the balcony door, slamming it behind her.

Tom, Reilly, and Hughes shared a look, and Reilly got up from the arm chair, sighing in resignation. "I guess I'd better try to talk to her down," she began, heading for the door.

But Ducky was there first and barred her way with his arm. "Not this time," he said soberly. "This one's mine, I think."

"You sure?"

"Oh yeah." He said nothing else, but opened the balcony door and stepped through, making sure it was shut firmly behind him. He didn't want any witnesses to this.

He stepped to her side and placed his hands on the thin railing. Gulping nervously, he took a surreptitious deep breath, and then, not daring to look at her, made the plunge.

"So, Hellspawn," he began, trying to sound casual but inwardly cursing himself for how his voice squeaked, "don't you think it's time you told me what you need to tell me?"

Instead of looking at him like he was out of his mind, as he'd thought --_ hoped! _-- she would, Heist stiffened at his side with a little gasp, her fists clenching the rail till her knuckles went white.

_Oh shit oh shit!_ he thought in despair. _I'm right. __**Shit,**__ I'm right! What am I gonna do now??_

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Tuckandroll," she answered at last, about three beats too late to be convincing.

He wiped clammy hands on his pants. "Would it help," he asked softly, "if I told you I've already pretty much figured it out?"

"Would it make you stop babbling riddles," she retorted, "if I told you to go to hell?"

This was so bad. How had life gotten so screwed up?

"He was the dude on the other line that time, right?" Ducky forged on. "I actually talked to him -- the guy himself, and I didn't even know. And then in the car park, when you saw him -- I saw how you looked at him--"

"I did _not _'look at him'!" she hissed. "It was nothing like that!" Then stood with her mouth open as she realized how badly she'd given herself away.

"I didn't mean _that,_" Ducky protested defensively. "I mean, you knew the guy. I saw your face. You weren't surprised that he was there, H. You were surprised because he had a gun on Reilly."

"You're crazy, Ducks." Heist turned away from him, hugging her arms around her chest. "It's getting cold out here, I'm going back--"

"Do you want me asking you about this inside, then?" he demanded.

He saw her go completely still. Then, "Would you really?" she asked in a tiny voice that was nothing like her.

He turned around and sagged back against the rail, then flailed a little as it jiggled against his backside. Straightening up, he grimaced and shook his head at her back. "Sorry, Heist," he muttered. "No I wouldn't, not really. But you have to tell me sometime, you know."

"Why?" she muttered, hunching over. "You're just going to hate me."

"No I'm not."

"You _are._ Because all those people are dead. _Kitten_ is dead. And it's all my fault that we're in this mess."

"He was after Al already, and Hughes too--"

"I told Sid -- Bond -- about the rescue attempt," Heist said in that small, frightened voice.

For a moment, he couldn't speak. Then -- _"Fuck!"_ -- he bit off the word as though it had cut his tongue.

"Told you," she whispered. "It is absolutely all my fault. And now you hate me." Her shoulders shook, and Ducky realized she was crying.

"H, it's not -- it's not," he insisted. "You didn't know what he was -- did you? I'll bet he never let on, not once. You didn't know what he was going to do."

"But I should have!" she cried, whirling around and almost shouting the words at his face. "I should have figured it out! I mean -- I'm Gene's muse and everything. I'm supposed to know things. How could I have been so -- so _stupid??_"

Ducky pulled her close and hugged her hard, while she wept against his shoulder. "Crap, Hellspawn," he said. "You know better than that. We can hack up a storm, but people? Even a genius can't figure out people."

0o0o0o0o0o0

----  
Re: Unbelievable Animated Teddy Bears -- Stonehenge _is_ in Caledonia :P

_Australia? Kangaroos, right? No thanks, I've had my fill of kangaroos for a while. Their kicks hurt._

We're leaving again tomorrow, and we're packing for a longer trip than usual. Don't know when we'll hit another wi-fi hotspot (see? I'm learning). Take care, Gene. Oh, my brother wants to say something, too.

- Al

Hi Gene. I just wanted to thank you for looking after my brother in the hospital. I'm glad he had someone he could trust when I wasn't there.

- Ed   
----

**July 15, 2006  
Location: Eastern Colorado**

They'd been driving for over twelve hours. Their last encounter with Bond had been far too close for comfort. Ed had long since tuned out the soft sounds of Hughes' snores, Heist's headphones, and Ducky's conversation with Tom and Reilly. Outside the van, the world didn't seem to exist. Only the occasional roughness of the road shuddering the seats beneath him gave any indication that the vehicle was still in motion. Ed rubbed his face wearily. He was too hot again. The coolant system in the van only worked intermittently, and the combination of outside temperature and the heat rising from the floorboards was becoming unbearable. Leaning forward, he slid open the small window midway down the side of the van. The air wasn't much cooler, but at least it was moving.

"Are you okay?"

Ed glanced at his brother with raised brows. "I was just a little warm, why?"

"You're doing it again."

Ed realized what he meant, and quickly took his hand away from his right shoulder. "It's nothing."

Al's eyes seemed to bore into him; Ed turned his face back to the window. "Reminds me of Risembool. Remember how we'd stay out so late that we could barely see to get home again?"

He felt Al shift, and looked back to see his younger brother staring down at his clasped hands. Al's voice was soft when he spoke, likely to keep the rest of the group from overhearing. "It's getting worse, isn't it."

Ed sighed, digging a hand through his bangs. In the seat in front of him, Heist's playlist started another song; it sounded tinny coming from the small speakers in her ears. He cast about for a way to assuage Al's concerns. Looking at his brother again, he sighed. Al deserved at least a portion of truth.

Reaching down to massage his left thigh, Ed leaned his forehead on the seat in front of him. "It's the automail, it's been twinging again. It started about a month before we left for Germany. It only really bothered me when the weather changed. But this last month, it started getting worse." Leaning back, he looked over at Al again. "Don't worry, I just need to be more careful. I should be cleaning it every night. Winry keeps telling me..." He stopped, swallowing heavily. He knew his bluster wouldn't fool Al for a second. With any luck, though, it would be enough to keep the harder truth at bay for at least a little while longer.

Al looked up, but before he even opened his mouth, the van hit a rough patch on the road, making everything vibrate.

Hughes inhaled through his nose, sitting up with a yawn. "Huuuummmmeverything okay?" he asked, yawning again.

Ducky turned his head slightly without taking his eyes off the road. "According to Miss Navigator, there's a nice, seedy motel about four miles down this creepy dirt path."

Ed glanced to the front in time to see Ducky receive a whap in the back of the head. Too tired to grin, he none-the-less appreciated the punishment Ducky received. _He's right though,_ mused Ed as he looked out the window. There was a sort of eeriness about driving down a dirt road at night. The trees on either side had grown right up to the banks, and it was easy to imagine any number of eyes peering at them through the dense foliage.

Almost as soon as he thought this, Ducky swerved sharply, earning him a round of exclamations and curses as everyone was tossed about. Rubbing his head where it had connected with the window, Ed looked out in time to see something fat, grey, and fast dart into the underbrush.

"Sorry, raccoon," said Ducky. "I swear that thing gave me the finger."

Reilly bent over to gather up the maps she'd dropped. "He's not the only one, dear."

The rest of the drive was uneventful. By the time they disembarked from the van, Ed was ready to sleep anywhere so long as it wasn't in motion.

Tom and Reilly went in to get rooms while everyone else grabbed their belongings. Reilly returned a few minutes later with two sets of keys. "Tom is getting us some dinner from across the street. Their idea of food here is half a pack of cigarettes and a stale donut."

Splitting up into two groups, Ed found himself sharing a room with Ducky, Al, and Heist. The room itself was small, with two medium sized beds and a tiny bathroom off the main area. Ed claimed the bed closest to the door for Al and himself.

Dropping down on the other one, Ducky flipped on the TeeVee while Heist made her way to the bathroom. After scanning through the stations, Ducky finally settled on one showing the news, albeit fuzzily. The words 'BREAKING NEWS' flashed across the bottom of the screen. "...o report as of yet about what caused the damage?"

The view shifted from a petite brunette behind the newsdesk to a man in a blue jacket standing in front of what might have been a small building at one point. "Amy, the police aren't saying anything concretely at this time. I have been able to gather, both from the firefighters working the scene, as well as some of the rescue volunteers, that whatever took place happened very quickly."

The screen split in two to show both reporters at the same time. "Do they think it may have been caused by a gas leak?"

There was a pause while the view shifted again, showing more of the damage. Various people, many in uniforms of some kind or other, worked relentlessly to move the twisted heaps of still smoking wreckage. The scene changed again to show the male reporter as he started speaking once more. "There's been no official word on that yet. For now, both police and firefighters are keeping pretty tight-lipped about the incident."

"Thank you Tom." Returning the view to the newsroom, the brunette turned to face the camera. "For those of you just joining us, there has been an explosion at the Riverside Hotel off Lake Drive and 3rd in downtown Topeka. So far, there are reports of up to six casualties..." Ed switched off the set, his right hand clenched tightly. The other two in the room sat nearby, silent and shaking. There was a noise to the side, and Ed looked up in time to see Heist, her face stricken, whirl back into the bathroom whence she'd recently emerged.

"Brother..."

Ed turned to his sibling. Al's face was tight, and tears were forming as he stared at the blank set. "We were... we were just there..."

Ed looked back at the silent screen. In the dark reflection, he could see Ducky pull his legs up tightly to his chest. "I know Al."

From the bathroom came the sound of tortured weeping.

0o0o0

In the next room over, Tom reached out and silently turned off the television. From the bathroom, he could hear Reilly retching, but no sound came from the man sitting on the other bed. Tom didn't want to look in Maes' direction, because he knew what he'd see if he did; he'd been watching it grow and fester for weeks, becoming ever more apparent with each newscast.

The bed squeaked as Maes slid off. "I need some air," he said, and a moment later, the outside door opened and closed.

Tom waited until he knew Reilly was all right. When she'd stopped gagging and he heard the water in the sink begin to run, he followed the other man outside. He'd noticed the copse of trees in the vacant lot next to the motel when they'd checked in and that was where he headed -- he knew Maes would be there.

As he approached, he could just make out the broad-shouldered form that nearly blended in with the heavy shadows of the trees in the rising sun. Maes' back and right shoulder lurched forward, and an instant later the hollow _thunk_ of a metal blade embedding itself in wood reached Tom's ears. It was followed by three more in rapid succession and then stopped as Maes strode toward the tree.

The other man was yanking the last knife from the trunk by the time Tom reached him and from the looks of it, it had wedged itself in tightly.

Maes turned with a grimace and rubbed at his shoulder, then started and brought the fist full of throwing knives up when he saw Tom. He sagged in relief when he realized the older man wasn't a threat, and said, "You really shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that."

"I didn't think I was sneaking," Tom said, mildly. He nodded at the wounds in the tree trunk and said, "Your aim's getting better."

Maes glanced at the target, his lips pulling down. "Not good enough, though."

"For what?" Tom asked.

Maes gave him a _you-know-damn-good-and-well-what_ glare as he strode past and faced the tree once more. As he raised one blade, he said, "You might want to move." When Tom stayed put, Maes brought his arm down. "I have to do this. You know how it is, the best candidate for the job and all that."

Tom crossed his arms, and refused to move. "You won't survive it, Maes. Chances are pretty damned good that he'll kill you before you kill him. Then what? Nothing changes, except that you'll be dead."

Maes huffed out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm already dead, remember?"

"You're alive here."

Maes stared at him for a long moment, then, with a tiny shake of his head, he said, "Not really. I don't belong here. I just can't seem--" he broke off and held his hands out in a helpless gesture. "Ed and Al can adjust to almost anything. They've taken to this world like fish in a pond. Once Bond is dead, they can stop running and make a life for themselves." He smiled sadly. "They've got good friends here who'll support them, after all."

"So do you."

Maes swallowed hard and glanced back at the motel. "Bond won't stop until he gets his hands on those boys, Tom. And he won't hesitate to kill the rest of you to get at them." He faced the older man again, determination settling over his face. "And Ed and Al? They'll become the damned sacrifice, because they'll die before they let someone else be killed."

"So that's it? You've made up your mind?"

"I can't go back. I can't stay here. And Bond needs to die. End of story."

Tom nodded and moved out of the line of fire. He joined Maes and gestured at the tree. "Then I guess you need to practice."

Maes gaped at him, but didn't make any move to resume his knife-throwing. "That's it? You're not going to toss out more words of wisdom to try and talk me out of this?"

Tom pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out. He took his time in lighting it and pulling the first smoke deep into his lungs. After he held it a moment, he leisurely blew it back out, then said, "You're preachin' to the choir here, Maes."

"You're planning to go with me to hunt him down."

Tom smiled and nodded. "You bet your ass. It's personal."

"It's suicide."

"So I hear."

Tom could practically see the gears turning in the man's head as Maes studied him with narrowed eyes. He was a brilliant agent, able to put difficult puzzles together. Tom knew Maes would figure it all out shortly. He waited patiently, enjoying his cigarette, and was soon rewarded when Maes jerked ramrod straight and his lips parted as everything fell into place.

Maes glanced at the spent cigarette as Tom dropped it and ground it out with the toe of his boot. "How long?"

A cold, grim smile spread across Tom's face, and he said, "About as long as it'll take to hunt down and kill Bond."

0o0o0o0o0o0

**July 26, 2006 -- 10:57 am  
Wichita, Kansas**

Amber Branch loved the park near her office. Right in the middle of old-town; there had once been a warehouse in its place, but twenty years ago the building had been demolished and the lot cleaned. Now it sported a fountain, a gazebo, rose bushes and one large pin-oak in the far corner.

It was late morning -- not quite time for the lunch crowd -- and there was only the Italian Ice vendor setting up his cart near the only opening in the Victorian-style iron fence that surrounded the patch of green.

She gave the vendor, a 30ish man with glasses and sandy hair that had been tucked up under the cap, a nod as she passed him. Already it was beginning to get too warm, and she felt for the guy -- that ugly red and white striped jacket couldn't be comfortable.

Her favorite spot was the polished wood bench under the pin-oak. It was in the far corner, and the one place that seemed to always have a slight breeze. Another advantage was that it was always in the shade -- whether from the tree itself, or from the building nearby.

The bench also had the added bonus, oddly enough, to be low enough that her feet touched the ground when she sat in it. She wasn't certain if it was just a mistake on the part of the planners, or it had been a deliberate attempt to attract children to the park (which was ridiculous, since it was in the heart of the business district -- but Amber had given up trying to comprehend the logic of local politicians long ago), but the lowness of the seat in a tall world kept it empty most times.

She had just settled down and opened the cheesy romance novel she'd picked up at the check-out counter the day before, when the vendor strolled her way with a cup in his hand filled with a mound of shaved, red ice.

She smiled up at him when he reached her, and he said, "It's beginning to heat up around here, isn't it?" He offered the cup of ice and added, "This one's on me."

Amber took it with thanks and slipped a spoonful of the sweet, fruit-flavored concoction into her mouth with relish, then she gestured to the bench with her spoon and said, "Care to enjoy the shade before the lunch crowd hits?"

He glanced from the bench, then back at her and grinned. "It's not exactly built for normal people, is it? I might not be able to get back up."

Amber's eyes narrowed. "Ha. Ha. What's next? Asking where my mommy is?"

"It had crossed my mind," he said as he flopped down next to her, the grin never leaving his face. "Except that I don't think I could out-run a bullet." He pulled off the cap, and a cascade of long, wavy hair fell out. He shook his head and scratched at his scalp.

"You're a smart-ass, Singer. It's a good thing I need you, else I might just use you for target practice."

"I fear for my knee-caps."

"I love you, too. Shit-head."

The bantering died for a moment, as they watched the people in business suits hurrying along the outside sidewalk. Finally Amber said, "They're taking me off the case."

"What about Bond?"

"They're still after him, but now they're after those boys, too."

Singer pulled a foot up onto the bench and propped his arm on his knee. He didn't look at her -- preferring to watch the traffic outside the park, instead -- the constant grin on his face disappearing. "They're not criminals," he said. "So I assume that the suits figured out what they can do."

Amber nodded. "I'm not certain how, but I have my suspicions."

"Does this mean I can take him out, now?" Singer asked excitedly.

She would have laughed, if the situation weren't so dire. Singer looked for all the world like an over-eager puppy. She half expected him to start bouncing around the bench and rapidly saying '_Pleasepleaseplease, pretty please'_ like Lucy would do when she wanted something very badly.

With a sigh, Amber stared down at the ground, the ice in her hands, resting on her knees. "Say it, Singer. You know you want to."

He leaned over, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and planted a gentle kiss on her temple. "Nah," he said when he sat back. "I never did like rubbing someone's nose in their screw-ups."

"Liar." 

"Okay, okay... 'I told you so'."

She chuckled. "I feel better now." She gazed back up at him, and asked, "Do you really think they can do it? Do they have the smarts to figure out how to get back home?"

Singer leaned back on the bench, his arms spread wide on the seat-back and his legs stretched straight out. He stared up into the branches of the tree and said, "The younger one has the patience and the talent. The older one?" He shrugged. "To be honest? Only if he can cool his jets a little. He has too little patience and too much temper."

"Not unlike a certain Special Forces Op I know once was."

"Former."

"Whatever." She tilted her head curiously. "One of these days you'll have to try and explain all this weirdness to me."

"You'd never get it," he responded with a low laugh. "You're too comfortable dealing with things you can see and feel and smell and taste. You like the tangible and you can't wrap your brain around the intangible." He nodded at his cart and the couple that was nearby, looking around. "I guess I should take care of my customers."

When he got to his feet, Amber reached out and grasped his arm. "Keep them safe, Singer. Whatever you do, keep them safe. And... please... be careful."

The man grinned warmly and patted her on the top of the head before he turned to head back to his cart.

0o0o0o0o0o0

**July 30, 2006  
Location: The Oklahoma Panhandle**

"We're overheating," Reilly said.

The car lurched and coughed and snapped Ed back into the here-and-now. Rubbing the feeling back into the left side of his face, he felt slippery dampness on his cheek and at the edge of his mouth, and realized that he'd dozed off.

"There was a sign a little ways back indicating a rest stop ahead," Hughes said. "It shouldn't be much further; think you can limp the Fiasco to it?"

Reilly shook her head and pulled the sputtering, jerking, pinging Ford to the shoulder.

With a barely suppressed groan, Ed straightened and unsnapped his seat-belt. He knew what was next. A glance out the front made him wince, though. The car might be small, but it was loaded down, and there was a hill up ahead. "Please tell me it's less than a mile away?"

Hughes shot a sympathetic glance over his shoulder as he popped his door open. "I certainly hope so."

"Okay Al, you get to steer," Reilly said. 

"Hey," Ed grumbled, "Why does Al always get to steer?"

"He's lighter," Hughes said, as he gave Ed a hand out of the tight backseat.

"Besides," Reilly said, "You're too A.D.D."

"Add?" Ed asked as he rolled the passenger window down.

"It means you're easily distracted by shiny objects," Al teased as he hopped up front, and found the lever between his legs to pull the driver's seat forward.

Ed's response was to close the passenger door, lean into the open window and give his brother a one-fingered, latex-covered, automail salute. As he found a comfortable grip on the door-post, he mumbled, "Drive a little bit off the road one time..."

"I wouldn't call putting the car into a ditch 'a little bit off the road', Ed," Hughes said as he placed his hands on the back of the car. To Al he shouted, "Okay, let off the brake."

With Reilly at the driver's window, Hughes at the back and Ed at the passenger side, the pushing began. "Why does it always have to die at the foot of a hill?" he groaned, as he put his shoulder into it and the car slowly, stubbornly, rolled forward. Of all the places to get stranded in this part of the country -- the flattest, most boring area he'd ever seen -- it figured that the car would die on the only hill within a hundred miles.

"I think it's the Reilly luck," Al quipped, and Ed heard a raspberry from the woman in response.

"We're gonna need to have a talk about that." Hughes groaned as the car tried to roll back, and Ed caught a glimpse of him flipping around to put his back against the hatch in an attempt to get better leverage. When the Fiasco gave in and reluctantly resumed creeping forward, he added, "After we find a room and get a nap."

"And a shower," Reilly said.

"A _cold_ shower," Ed emphasized. He blew at a drop of sweat that was threatening to fall into his eyes. They'd spent money on the second vehicle a week ago because -- according to Tom's and Hughes' reasoning -- Bond and whomever he was getting his information from were keeping a watch for a van loaded down with seven easily identified individuals. Ed knew that excuse was bullshit. The _real_ reason for the second car that Reilly had not-so-affectionately dubbed the 'Fiasco' had little to do with making it harder for them to be tracked. It was because Tom and Hughes were going to go after the assassin themselves. Soon.

They'd tried to keep it a secret from the rest of the group, but there was no such thing when seven people were packed together like sardines for weeks on end. Ed had cornered Hughes when they had a rare moment alone, furious at being left out of the plans. He thought the two of them were treating he and Al like little kids who couldn't fight their own battles. Hughes, of all people, should have known better, too. Ed had just as much reason to kick Bond's ass as the rest of them did. More, because that bastard had gone after Al, and that made it personal.

Except they had no intention of just kicking his ass and making sure he was locked away for good. They planned to kill him and end it permanently. With Bond dead, there was no possibility that he could escape again and come after them. Besides, Hughes had reasoned, someone with skills needed to stay behind in case Bond made an end-run around them. There was no way in hell that Reilly or Ducky, or Heist could defend themselves against an alchemist of Stealthwork's caliber.

Much as he wanted to, Ed couldn't argue against that. He just wondered if he could handle the backlash if Hughes and Tom didn't return.

What he'd really wanted to do, was tell them not to risk it. If the simulation worked and Ed's research panned out, they could deal with Bond on more familiar territory, but he dared not whisper even a hint, because if he was wrong...

He shot a quick glance back over his shoulder at Hughes, remembering that night at the Branch's; how he couldn't hide his heartache when he'd danced with Lucy. And no one spoke about what happened later that night, but Ed had his suspicions. He would catch Hughes gaze at Reilly when she was concentrating on something else, and see regret. Sometimes, Ed would notice the older man staring into nothing but fiddling with a wedding ring that was no longer on his finger, and it was like he wasn't even there.

He couldn't take the chance of getting Hughes' hopes up, only to watch the man shatter if he failed. No, he had to be _absolutely_ certain he could do it, there was no other choice.

Ed knew something of what Hughes was feeling, but he recognized that he couldn't empathize completely. _Would I be this lost if I'd been married and had a kid?_ he wondered, and an image of Winry flashed through his mind. She was wearing her coveralls open, revealing that tiny black top and her hair was pulled back in a bandanna. He felt himself flush, and was, for once, grateful for the ghastly heat. He'd always thought she looked best that way. It was... Winry.

Sudden regret stabbed at him and Ed decided that maybe he could empathize with Hughes more than he thought.

Someone on the highway honked and sped past a little too close, grinning and waving. Reilly, being closest to the traffic, instinctively winced, then shouted a string of creative obscenities at them. The now standard argument between her and Hughes started right on cue, and Ed ignored it. They weren't arguing about who should be pushing at the driver's window anyway.

_Tempers are getting short all the way around,_ he thought bitterly. _Everyone is getting on everyone else's nerves and no one's sleeping worth a shit._ He stifled a yawn and blinked back the bleariness fogging his vision. _Especially me._ It was his own fault, he admitted. Writing code was a lot easier when no one was awake to look over his shoulder and ask questions he wasn't ready to answer. Least of all, from his brother.

Ed cast a quick glance at Al, who was concentrating on the road ahead and wrestling with the steering. He still hadn't told him about the Shadows. _And what would I say? 'Hey Al, there's this thing that's following us around that's not human and if it touches you, it'll suck the life right out of you'?_ Ed blew a clump of sweaty bangs from his face and counted himself lucky that the Shadows hadn't actually done anything lately. They seemed to only show up when he was working on the simulation code, but they merely hovered in a dark corner by the ceiling. _Like they're waiting for something._

"We've got company," Hughes warned and everyone let the car come to a stop. Ed saw Al set the emergency brake and crank the wheel as he turned around to deal with whichever local authority wanted to pester them this time.

Instead of the expected black and white police car, an ancient pick-up rolled to a stop behind them, and someone jumped from the passenger seat. Ed couldn't see his face under the shade of the bill of a black mesh baseball cap, but the sandy hair pulled back into a pony-tail and that graffiti-covered duffel he hefted from the back would have been enough.

Ed groaned as Singer slapped at the door of the truck and sent the driver on his way. "You look like you could use another back," he said as he approached.

"Thanks," Hughes said, rubbing at his shoulder. "Will your friend be back to get you?"

Singer grinned as he lifted the hatch and wedged his duffel into the back. "He was going the other way." He pushed the hatch back down, then leaned harder when it didn't click closed. "Besides, I have no idea who the guy was."

"Don't think you're gonna con a ride out of us, asshole," Ed snapped.

"Edward," Reilly hissed.

Hughes glanced from Singer to Ed and darted a look at Al, who gasped in delighted surprise as he came out of the car. "Easy, Reilly," Hughes said. "Ed, do you know this guy?" he asked, with a suspicious glare at the newcomer. Singer, for his part, allowed the scrutiny with patience.

"Yeah, and he's a pain in my ass."

"He's helped us, Brother," Al said. He patted at the pocket with the flute poking out of it, and said to Hughes, "He gave this to me, too."

Singer offered a hand in greeting to Hughes and said, "The Iron Butterfly and Steppin' Wolf--" Reilly snorted "--know me as Singer."

"He's okay, Maes," Al said. "Brother just doesn't like him because he can't hit him."

Singer nodded ahead of them and said, "The rest stop is just over the hill. We'll get there sooner if we stop bumping our gums." With that, he braced himself at one side of the hatch and Hughes took the other. Al took that as his cue and bounced back into the driver's seat and shouted that he was ready.

"I wouldn't call his lunatic ravings helpful," Ed grumbled, and returned to gripping the door-post.

"Iron Butterfly," Reilly giggled as the car started to creep up the hill. "Cute."

Ed winced and knew, without a doubt, that he'd never hear the end of that and vowed to get even with Singer for it.

As they gradually made progress, Ed could hear Singer and Hughes talking softly to each other and he tried to listen in, but all he could pick up were random words that offered no clues. He thought perhaps he heard Amber's name mentioned once, but he couldn't be certain and thought it was unlikely anyhow. _It would be just far too strange if Singer knew her, _he thought.

Ed concentrated on pushing the car and placing one foot in front of the other. He stopped watching ahead of them and counting the inches they gained and decided to let his mind wander where it wanted... and it wanted to take a tour around the strangeness of the last few months.

_Synchronicity, Reilly had called it,_ he thought. '_The coincidental occurrence of events that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality'. Everything that's happened seems to be linked together somehow. How weird is it that Hughes was in the same small town, in the same time period, that I ended up in? And what about Al already meeting Amber and Alden? Or Hughes and Llyn? And just how much of a coincidence is it that I fell through the Gate on the one person's land who would actually believe my story?_

The only conclusion -- as illogical as it was -- was that none of it was a coincidence and that only led to more questions that he didn't have the answers to... yet.

Ed felt the door-post rudely yanked from his hands and snapped back to the present in time to hear Al whoop in delight as he aimed the Fiasco downhill and toward the rest stop that wasn't very far ahead anymore. "Hey, wait for me!" he shouted as he tried to chase after his brother. Logic and the sweltering heat rapidly changed his plans and he slowed down with a wave at the quickly receding back of the small car. "Never mind." A chuckle blended in with his gasps as he stopped and bent over with his hands on his knees.

He felt a slap on his back and sprung up, spinning and ready to take Singer down. He stopped himself in time to keep from punching Hughes, who arched back with his hands up. "Whoa."

Chagrined, Ed pasted on a sheepish smile and said, "Sorry about that."

Singer strolled by and arched a brow. "A little tense, Iron Butterfly?"

"Stop calling me that!"

Reilly giggled from ahead of them, and then started singing a tune. Ed wasn't sure, but it sounded like she was saying,_ 'In-da-gadda-da-vida, Baby... don'cha know that I lo-ove you-oo' _

"What the hell was that?" Ed asked as he and Hughes fell into step with each other.

The older man shrugged and said, "I have no bloody clue. None of the music she listens to makes a lot of sense to me."

They strolled the rest of the way in companionable quiet, but as they reached the entrance of the rest stop, Ed clasped Hughes on the arm and held him back. He kept an eye on Singer, who'd perched himself on the hood of the Fiasco next to Al and the pair of them were playing their flutes. The reedy sounds drifted on the limp breeze, harmonious and serene. Reilly was leaning against the passenger side of the car, arms crossed, listening.

"Hughes, what did he say to you?"

The other man studied Ed for a long moment, then glanced at Singer. "Do you really think he can't be trusted?"

"I don't know. Al seems to like the guy, but he just pisses me off." Ed shrugged. "He always talks in stupid riddles."

Hughes chuckled. "Well, no wonder." He turned his full attention to Ed. "He knows things he shouldn't. Stuff discussed between me and Amber, only."

"So he does know Amber?" Ed asked, incredulous.

"It would seem so." Hughes rubbed at the back of his neck and scowled. "We may not have a choice but to trust him, Ed. Amber's been taken off our case. Her colleagues are watching her closely and chances are, her phones are all bugged."

"So we're going to have to communicate with her... through _him?!_" 

"Pretty much," Hughes said.

"Great. Lovely. We're all fucking doomed," Ed groaned.

Hughes laughed again and threw his arm over Ed's shoulder. As he pulled the younger man along to join the rest of the group, he said, "Glad to see you looking at this in such a positive light, Ed."

0o0o0o0o0o0


	33. Ch 25c Move em On Head em Up Rawhide!

_**Balance of Power - Chapter 25 - Part Three**_

**"Move 'em on, Head 'em Up... Rawhide!"  
Arc One: Chapter 25  
Balance of Power**

**Part Three**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie SPOILER HEAVY and slightly AU**

**A/N**: **meirelle** opens this part with her contest winning entry! Congrats!

**August 5, 2006  
Location: Central Texas**

Edward stood on the old, crumbling curb at the end of the parking lot, looked at his watch and tried to stifle a yawn. It was around 2:00 in the morning, and it was disgustingly humid out. He hadn't noticed it in the car because Hughes had cranked up the air conditioning, but now it was getting uncomfortable. He glared at the ugly, pothole-riddled road. Scrawny weeds grew out of the cracks in the pavement, and most of the rest of it was covered in dried mud. The orange streetlight a few yards away was giving off an obnoxious buzzing noise, and it, as well as every other light in the vicinity, was surrounded by a halo of moths. Yet, despite being away from the lights and dressed in long pants and a hoodie, he still managed to get bitten by mosquitoes.

Surely, the world was mocking him. Hours of riding in that twice damned Ford Fiesta earned him a nasty cramp in his neck and an even nastier mood. Of course, being confined in a small space with the same three people for extended periods of time tended to reproduce the effect of regressing several years in age. Oh, he was being an asshat (as Heist liked to call him), he knew it -- but he wanted to pump gas, damn it!

When he'd offered, Reilly had mumbled an excuse, and Hughes had flat out told him no. What was with them? It wasn't like destruction was caused _everywhere_ he went.

The rational side of him knew that he had absolutely no idea how to work the gas pump, and said pump weirded the crap out of him. But still. If he was stuck here, he might as well learn. Ed looked back towards the small, cramped car and growled. Al was pumping gas -- Al! _Tch._ Stupid jerks. Stupid car. Stupid bumpy road.

Stupid simulation.

_And we __**are**__ stuck here,_ he thought as his eyes burned. The simulation he wrote had failed time and again to give him the results he so desperately sought. _Because there's only one way, and I can't do that._ He'd been so secretive about the program because he didn't want to disappoint anyone if he couldn't make it work. Now that he'd come to realize that the answer he wanted didn't exist, and there was no one to share the crushing pain, he'd never felt so isolated and alone in his life.

_Suck it up, Elric,_ he told himself. _Time to deal with what is instead of what you can't have._

At least he was out of the car. He didn't know how much longer he could take it. He was tired of always ending up stuck in the back behind Hughes with his long legs, tired of the miserable heat and a shitty cooling system during the day (and the damn thing freezing him out after the sun went down), tired of crappy motel rooms, tired of Ducky's insanity, Heist's pouting, Reilly's crankiness, Hughes' stupid jokes and Tom's imperious calm. He was especially tired of phone calls in the middle of the night and jumping at every damned shadow -- or Shadow, even.

He was just _tired._

He yawned and stared up at the dark sky.

And paused.

The stars in the sky were the exact same ones he'd seen a million times in Amestris -- the same constellations in the same positions in the sky, and the same Milky Way he'd see cutting the sky above Risembool in half on warm summer nights.

_Funny,_ he thought. _Of all the differences between Amestris and here, I never imagined that the stars would be the same._ But they were. He recognized the constellations. Hell if he knew what they were called -- here or in Amestris -- but they were the same. It was strange. He'd seen the night sky countless times in this world, and only now did he notice the familiarity of it.

"Are you done now?" came a voice from behind him.

Ed started and slowly turned to face the intruder. Reilly stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest and an amused smile on her face. He scowled at her. "I wasn't sulking," he blurted out.

Reilly's smile grew. "You said it, not I."

At a loss for any real comeback, he let out a wordless grumble and shoved his hands into his pockets. _Oh, great. Make a fool of yourself._

Reilly sighed but didn't say anything.

Ed ignored her and instead focused on the obnoxious cacophony of chirping crickets.

"You know," Reilly said hesitantly, "if you hadn't pitched a fit, we would've probably let you pump gas."

Ed glared at her. "I pitched no such fit."

"Ed," Reilly groaned, bringing her right hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "You took the pump right out of Hughes' hands."

He shrugged it off. "So."

Reilly raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "And then," she continued, "you got angry at it because it didn't work -- you have to pay before it'll let you pump, by the way."

"But--"

"And then you proceeded to throw it on the ground and snarl at it." She frowned slightly, her features set in mock contemplation. "I think that's pitching a fit," she decided.

Ed's mouth hung open. "I--I didn't _snarl_ at it!"

"No, of course not." Reilly let a ghost of a smile grace her features. "What are you doing way out here anyway?" she asked, waving a hand half-heartedly at the darkness around them. "Besides sulking."

Ed narrowed his eyes, but he let the jab slide. "Looking at the stars." They were both silent a moment before he added, "They're the same in Amestris."

"Really?" Reilly asked.

He watched her look out at the horizon, dark and unpolluted by city lights.

"Same constellations?"

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding, and then pointed to the east. "There's that weird-looking 'w.'" He pointed north. "And the spoon thing." He then pointed straight up. "And the arrow."

"Ah," Reilly said with amusement, "so that's what they're called in your world."

"No!" Ed quickly defended. "I just never bothered to learn the names."

Reilly studied the sky for a moment. "Those are Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, and Cygnus."

Ed stared at her, utterly perplexed. "What the hell kind of names are those?"

"Mythological names, Ed."

"I know that. But, I mean, that--" he pointed to the 'w' "--does not look like Cassiopeia."

"Well, it looked like Cassiopeia to somebody," Reilly said mildly.

Ed let out a short, disapproving growl.

They watched the sky in silence for a bit, then Reilly said, "I'm sorry, Ed."

He darted a shocked glance at her and was heartened by the warmth and sadness on her face. "For what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know what set you off, but you've been acting like you lost your last friend, and you don't want to admit it hurts."

Ed felt a jab of pain in his stomach, like a twisting knife. He grit his teeth, turned his face back up to the sky, and glared at the offending constellation. He narrowed his eyes. Then, after a long moment of silence, he said, "I like 'giant w' much better."

"I know you do." Reilly said gently, and he faced her once more. Her dark eyes were bright with laughter, and he could see the corners of her lips curl up in a smile. "But you're obviously not a very creative person."

"Oh, really?" Ed smirked. "You haven't even experienced the tip of the Fullmetal creativity iceberg yet. Just you wait."

Reilly snorted. "Oh, I'll wait."

Ed chuckled and then craned his neck to look back up at the sky. "I wonder if anyone at home is looking at the stars right now."

He wasn't looking at her, but he felt Reilly's smile disappear. She put her hand on his left shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. "There are a lot of stars in the sky, and there are a lot of people on the ground to look at them. So I think--"

"Al!" A voice filtered over from the vicinity of the gas pump, sounding both irritated and amused, a combination only Maes Hughes could pull off. "It's spilling over. You made it overflow!"

"Ah, sorry," Al replied. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." The look on Al's face was classic _Alphonse Panic Attack_ material. It was priceless -- Ed wished he had a camera.

Reilly groaned. "I'm needed back at the car."

"Yeah." Ed watched her run over to Al. Then he let a slow, lazy grin creep onto his face. He contemplated the words Reilly had told him. Her opinion was left unfinished, but he thought he knew what she was getting at. _Billions of stars in the sky, and billions of people beneath them._ He gazed back at the cosmos and felt his lazy grin broaden into a genuine smile. "Someone's bound to be watching."

0o0o0o0o0o0

----  
Re: Found you anyway

_Heist,_

I'm not sure if you've heard, but I thought someone should know. I just saw on the news that Ray, the nurse who worked in the psych ward and helped get Al out, was murdered about a month and a half ago. I want to think it had nothing to do with why you guys are hiding, but somehow I doubt it. For what it's worth, I don't think Al should know (if he doesn't already), but if you decide to tell him... just make sure his brother is around when you do. He really looked up to Ray.

Gene  
----

**August 12, 2006  
Location: Central Arkansas**

Maes took off his glasses and rubbed his burning eyes, then leaned forward and swiped the condensation off the windshield. It had been raining hard all night, but it looked like it had finally let up enough that he wouldn't get drenched if he opened the driver's side window a bit.

The clean, cool air hovered at the edge of the entrance, bringing with it the aroma of bacon, eggs and pancakes from the 24-hour diner across the two-lane highway from them. There hadn't been much activity most of the night -- even now there were only two cars in the lot. He had an unobstructed view of the inside of the restaurant through the wall of glass lining the front, and he could see the three waitresses leaning on the counter looking bored. The motel next door to the diner was even quieter, as all but three of its twelve rooms were unoccupied and all the windows were dark.

He grimaced as his stomach rolled; unable to decide if it was due to all the caffeine, or to the sickly-sweet citrus concoction he drank when the coffee ran out. The aroma of fried foods from across the highway should have made him hungry, but the Mountain Dew had taken care of that.

Maes tilted his head and inhaled the fresh air deeply, and it settled his stomach somewhat. The air inside the car remained stale and slightly smoke-tinged and he was tempted to reach across the softly snoring Tom to crack his window and get a cross-breeze going, but he didn't want to risk waking him. Soon enough, it would be the older man's turn to take the watch and let Maes nap -- not that he would be able to sleep, as keyed up as he was.

Early that day they'd left this same motel with the rest of the group and followed for about two hours. Then after taking an exit and finding an untraveled road, had Ed change the color of the car to a flat black primer. Amidst protests from the rest -- the loudest being Reilly's and Ed's -- Tom and Maes doubled back, taking side roads and making random turns to make certain they weren't being tailed, and returned. They parked on the dark side of a honky-tonk across from the motel and waited. Both men considered themselves fortunate that it was Sunday and the bar was closed. No one would accidentally stumble on them while they watched for any unusual activity.

He leaned back in the seat, pulling his arms over his head in an attempt to get some blood circulating through the upper half of his body. There was no hope for his legs though, not in the cramped space of the Fiasco. He'd moved the seat back as far as it would go, and still every time he'd tried to stretch them in the past six hours, he'd only managed to get a foot caught in the clutch or brake.

Of all the things about Maes Hughes' job when he was in the military that he missed, the one thing he _didn't,_ was surveillance. The hours upon hours of just sitting in the dark and waiting with nothing to occupy his mind were agonizing.

On the other hand, he no longer felt powerless. All the running they've done -- trying to keep one step ahead of Bond -- all the newscasts they've caught showing the aftermath of his taunting, had left Maes feeling impotent. Amber was doing her best to keep them safe and to get her people to hunt him down, but Stealthworks continuously eluded her. Maes had no idea if he and Tom would succeed where Amber couldn't, but it was a damn sight better than playing the victim.

And they were forced to make the attempt any way.

And no one in the group was naïve enough to think that they weren't suspects for the crimes being committed at every single place they had stayed. What Amber didn't say, but both Tom and Maes had little doubt of, was that her superiors had other ideas in mind. They wanted Bond, all right. They also wanted Ed and Al. Not because they were dangerous, but because of their abilities. If they were captured, they'd be tested and ordered to become weapons. They would be nothing but lab rats with no life or freedom. That was if they cooperated -- which Maes doubted -- otherwise, they'd be vivisected. He wouldn't allow that -- and as ill as it made him to contemplate, he knew that if it came down to it, he'd kill the boys himself to keep them from that fate.

And if _they _were caught, Maes held no illusions that _he'd _be anything but dead, because even though he was an alien in this world like the other three, he was useless to these people.

_Dead at the hands of some anonymous agent, or dead at the hands of Stealthworks, _he thought. _Either way, I'm dead, but at least this way, I'll go down fighting and maybe those boys will get a chance at a life. _

Tom snorted next to him and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?" he murmured.

"About thirty minutes later than the last time you asked."

"And what time was it then?"

"Thirty minutes later than the time before that."

"Smart-ass," Tom said. "You've been letting Ducks influence you."

Maes chuckled, then pulled on the door-handle. "I need to piss," he said as he stepped out. "Try to stay awake until I get back, Old Man."

Tom yawned lustily, then slouched down in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah. Sure. I'm wide awake now," he said through another yawn.

Maes gently closed the door, danced his way around the mucky potholes that made up the parking lot of the bar, and headed around to the back of the building. He listened carefully in the darkness, but the only sounds were the tree-frogs that had come out in the aftermath of the rain, and his own relief. What little traffic there was on the highway this time of night was muffled by the water on the surface of the road, the growing mist in the air, and the building. A quiet night -- unfortunately.

He was actually beginning to wonder if Bond would even show this time.

He started and nearly wet his shoes when a semi layed on the air-horn as it rolled past, then laughed at himself over it. _It would be my luck that bastard would do me in while I had my dick in my hand. _

At first it was a darkly amusing thought, but a cold chill quickly snaked down his spine, and he darted a nervous glance around. The weight of the knives he'd hidden in various places on his body gave little comfort as he peered into the darkness. Maes shivered -- not from the relief on his bladder, but from the feeling that he was being watched, and he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.

He chided himself as he zipped his pants and started back to the car, but he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had suddenly come over him. He kept close to the building and cautiously poked his head around the corner, then immediately pulled a knife from his belt.

In the watery, reflected light from across the street, he could see Tom outside the car with his gun in his hand, held non-threateningly down at his side -- but his thumb was resting against the hammer, ready to pull it in an instant. The older man was talking to a whip-thin woman in a waitress' uniform, but Maes couldn't hear what was being said. From his position, if the woman were a threat, there would be no chance that he'd be able to hit her; Tom was in the way. The best he could hope for would be to wing her... and that could be a death-sentence for his partner.

He cursed silently and attempted to slink along the wall of the bar without being seen. He never took his eyes off of her and something about her demeanor tugged at his over-caffeinated brain. She was standing stock-still, but her head would keep tilting slightly to the side, as though she were listening to someone whispering over her left shoulder.

As he drew closer, he caught a glimpse of a tiny red light blinking in her ear, and the horror of what he was seeing made his already upset stomach lurch. Keeping to the shadows, he peered around and spied Bond arrogantly sitting in a window booth in the diner -- sipping from a steaming cup. Across the table from him was another waitress -- a plump, older woman -- sitting stiffly upright with her hands flat on the table top. The assassin set the cup down, then grasped his hostage's wrist. She made to yank her hand away, but something he said made her stop.

The girl with Tom then glanced Maes' way and stammered, "Y-you may as well s-stop cowering in the dark, Hughes. He-- I know you're there."

Maes swallowed, palmed the blade, and strode out of the shadows to Tom's side. "Bond," he spat.

"Yup," Tom said. "And according to the young lady here, he has a message for us."

Now that he was closer, he could see the girl was only about 18 years old –- _Barely an adult... like Kitten was_ -- Her eyes were so wide that her pupils were little more than pinpricks in a sea of white, her face was damp with sweat and tears and her lips were bloodless. She was shivering and sniffling, absolutely terrified.

Maes laid a finger to his lips and she nodded, understanding. Then he reached out, hesitating when she flinched. When he knew she wasn't going to bolt, he touched her chin and turned her head to the right.

He knew it would be too much to hope that the sadistic bastard had simply used a cheap, store-bought transmitter. The thing had Stealthwork's signature all over it. It looked like a tiny mechanical spider with a dozen red pin-points around the body that blinked in a cascading succession. Thin, dark threads trickled down her neck from the eight legs which had embedded themselves into the flesh and cartilage of her ear.

She whimpered and then said, "He said, 'You're not stupid enough to try and take my little pet off of her, are you?' _Oh God, what does he mean?!_"

The words were no sooner out of her mouth, when the spider trembled and one of the legs tore itself from her ear. It dislodged itself from the main body, sprouted hair-thin legs of its own, and then started to snake around the girl's neck. The filament it pulled in its wake was nearly invisible, except for the crease that had begun to appear in the pale flesh of her throat. When she squeaked in disgust and attempted to brush it away, a spark popped and she jumped, yanking her hand back.

She was just about to start going into a complete, blind panic when Tom grasped her shoulders and said with amazing calm, "You need to stay still. Do you hear me?"

His words had the desired effect, because she froze, stared uncomprehending a beat, then blinked and nodded. She didn't relax -- it would be impossible for anyone under the circumstances -- but at least she wasn't flailing about.

The spider's leg had made its trip all the way around the girl's neck at this point and had reattached itself to its body with a whiff of singed flesh and terrified sobbing. Maes knew with cold certainty that the tiny, fragile-looking filament would be a very effective garrote that could take the waitress' head completely off, if Bond ordered it to.

He shot a quick glance at Tom, who looked back with the same grim expression he was positive reflected on his own face. The girl was walking dead; she just didn't realize it yet.

"What do you want, Bond?" Maes asked, glaring at the assassin across the highway.

"Th-the same thing you want," the girl relayed.

"That's impossible," Maes said. "You know that."

The waitress' face crumbled and she sniffled. "He... he's _laughing._ Why is he laughing?" She suddenly flinched as though dodging an invisible blow, and stammered, "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Oh God, please don't kill me! I'll tell them." She listened a moment and Maes didn't think it could be possible for her to become any paler, but what little color remained in her face drained out and it looked like she was just about to faint. "He said, 'It is possible, if you have the stomach to use one of your friends.'" A choked whine escaped her lips, then she said in a shaky whisper, "He said, 'Do you need a good reason to sacrifice one of them to get us all home?'"

"There isn't enough motivation in any world that would make those boys kill someone, Bond," Maes ground out.

"'Really?'" the girl relayed. She listened a second, then focused on Maes again. "He said there's a traitor among you."

"Bullshit," Tom hissed.

"Divide and conquer, Stealthworks?" Maes sneered. "That's hardly your style."

Maes watched in growing anger as Bond tightened his grip on the other woman's wrist and yanked it up. She jerked and he could almost hear her frightened and pained gasp.

A tinny shout burst from the transmitter making the waitress wince and jerk. "Don't piss him off!" she cried. She grasped at the front of Maes' sweatshirt in desperation. "He promised me he'd let my friend go and take this thing off me if you gave your word to get him home."

Maes gently cupped her cheek and stared down into her terrified, hopeful face. Bond was lying, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that. So young and innocent of all this; caught up in a sadistic game of cat and mouse without knowing why. _Just like Spike and Kitten, _he thought. _Like so many others. _He had to do something and quickly. Bond had made his demand and he wasn't going to wait long.

"Please," she whimpered. "Just give him what he wants. H-he said th-the killing won't stop until you do." Then, barely above a whisper, "I have a little girl at home. I'm all she's got."

"Bastard," Tom whispered.

_No more._ Maes was trembling as he gripped her chin firmly with one hand and spun the spade-knife in the palm of the other. He only had a fraction of a second to do it before Bond would catch on. All it would take would be a little twitch of his wrist and the leg holding the filament taut would break loose. Then he could aim the point of the blade at her ear and dig the spider out. She might lose part of her ear -- probably her hearing on that side -- but at least she'd live.

If he didn't hesitate...

Praying he moved fast enough, he quickly slipped the blade under the garrote close to her ear. "This'll only hurt for a little bit," he said softly.

"What the fuck are you doing, Maes?" Tom hissed.

The reek of scorching flesh hit his nose just as the girl screamed and wrenched herself free. She fell to her knees in the slimy muck and cried as she dug with her fingernails at the garrote and the spider. Then there was an instant when she looked up at Maes, horrified comprehension and utter betrayal further distorting a face that might have been pretty...

Maes barely had time to step away from her and choke out, "I'm so sorry."

Her face twisted in agony with a silken _whip-twang_ of the tightening garrote. There was a brief eternity when nothing happened, then her head fell from her neck into the mud. What remained of her body wobbled a moment as a fountain of dark red spewed into the air, then it collapsed with a splash into a puddle, her life pumping out of her in a flood that stained the brown muck into black. The spider trembled and hissed, then her disconnected head exploded in a gruesome rain of blood and hair and grey-matter and bone shards.

He could hear Tom gagging behind him, but all Maes could do was stare at the girl as cold fury seeped into his veins. Gazing across the highway, he saw the other waitress slumped back in her seat, looking as though she'd merely dozed off, but Maes knew better. He hardly noted the small clump of people beginning to form outside of the cafe. All he saw was the impeccably dressed bald man sitting at a table by the window, staring smugly back at him as he calmly closed his cellphone.

Maes' grip on the knife tightened spasmodically and he took a step toward the street, but a vice-like hand on his arm stopped him. "We don't have time," Tom's voice broke through the haze of rage and stopped Maes and it was only then he heard sirens in the distance. With a sharp nod he turned back to the car and followed the older man.

Tom yanked the driver's door open and started pocketing anything he could find that might identify them, "We'll be better off if we stay on foot." Straightening, he pinned Maes with a steady gaze, and asked, "Do you understand me, Hughes? We need to fall back and regroup."

Maes slipped his knife back into his belt, and said, "I'm not some green recruit, Tom. I understood you perfectly."

With a relieved gust, Tom relaxed and said, "You had me worried for a minute there." Then he reached back in and pulled the keys from the ignition and trotted around to the back of the small car. He popped the hatch open, shoved the styrofoam cooler to the side, flipped the carpet and fished a metal box from the spare tire well. Throwing the lid of the box up and grabbing two road flares, he ignited one, leaned into the car and tossed it into the front seat, then started the second and dropped it onto the carpeting in the hatch. Then he took one step back and glanced at Maes. "You might want to run now."

Maes smirked skeptically and said, "You know, that only works in the movies."

"Ya think?" Tom said as smoke rolled out of the Fiasco. He jerked his head toward the back of the bar, and the trees beyond, then started jogging in that direction with Maes matching his pace. "I'm just hoping for a good diversion so we can high-tail it out of here. With any luck, the local yokels will be more interested in dousing our little camp-fire than running after us for a bit."

The front seat of the compact car suddenly burst into flames with a _whoosh,_ making both men skid to a stop and instinctively duck, then glance back. "Good idea," Maes said.

With the Ford alight, they could see well enough to make a mad dash toward the woods and disappear in the thick underbrush a moment before the sound of sirens were cut off and a lone patrol barreled into the muddy parking lot.

0o0o0

**Location: Central Oklahoma**

Ed felt the short hairs on the back of his neck rise as he finished what he hoped was the final revision to the codes for the simulation program he'd been fighting with. He'd tracked down the problem with the file application over a month ago and he was beginning to run out of excuses and lies for why he was obsessing so much -- especially to himself. He'd all but convinced himself that it was a waste of time, but no matter how many times he'd walk away from the computer in frustration, he kept coming back.

He really didn't want anyone else but Al to know what he was attempting to do, although Ducky and Heist had an idea since they'd been poking about into the program whenever he came up against a problem. He had no choice but to trust they'd keep quiet, and while it galled him to give up that much control over the situation, he had to admit they'd been true to their words. And although some of the rather bizarre stories Ducky came up with were boggling, the fact that the rest of the group had bought them baffled Ed even more. Hughes and Reilly and Tom were getting suspicious, though -- he was certain of it. Though none of them had come right out and said anything yet, he knew it would only be a matter of time before one of them hit on what he was trying to do.

A sense of desperation made a little flip in his stomach as he saved and backed out of DOS, which turned into a quiver of anticipation as he set the application to run the test. It rapidly collapsed into into dark frustration as the simulation -- once again -- ended disastrously. With a low moan, Ed closed his eyes and thumped his head against the rickety table he was using as a desk.

With a sigh, Ed wondered for the thousandth time, if he should just give up. As it was, the entire effort was proving to be a waste, anyhow. Hughes and Tom had taken off to confront Bond, and chances were, neither of them would return, and while going back home sounded good to him and Al, they could live here... once everything had settled down, anyway.

A tingling, prickling feeling snaked down his spine, and his head shot up. Suddenly every sense went into overdrive as he felt like he was being watched. He darted a glance around the room checking his soundly sleeping bunkmates. Ducky was, as usual, comatose on the floor, stretched out at the feet of both beds and a hazard for anyone who might need to get up in the dark. Heist and Reilly were little more than curled up balls under a pile of covers on the bed furthest from him, and in the bed closest...

Not seeing a form in the bed and the blankets thrown back, Ed spun toward the bathroom, his heart beginning to race. Panic rose when he realized there was no light peeking from beneath the door and he desperately scanned the room again -- all the while, feeling as though he were being watched from behind.

Reilly moaned softly and stirred in her sleep, and in so doing, revealed another, smallish lump next to her. Apparently Al had decided he didn't want to wait until Ed was ready to sleep, so the younger brother sought comfort and a warm body from Reilly, who was just as much of a cuddle-freak. He stifled a chuckle at the sight -- it had become a source of gentle humour and frequent betting pool on who would wake up in the morning with Al snuggled up to them.

Gazing warmly at the two of them, Ed breathed a sigh of relief, saved his work and tip-toed to the single window in the room; peeling the curtain back just far enough to peek out with one eye. He searched the lot and peered into the shadows outside in an effort to locate the watcher, but the area was clear and the feeling of eyes on him wasn't coming from outside at any rate.

_It's just paranoia,_ he thought and shook his head. _We've been running away from Bond for too long._

Yawning hugely and rubbing his hand down his face, he settled down into bed and returned to puzzling out the mysteries of programming code. There was so much he didn't know yet, and he was getting frustrated because he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out. He'd refined his arrays, changed the order of the symbols, even figured in the weather and locations of possible Gates, but there was always some element that was off, or...

Ed rolled to his side and glared at the stubbornly recalcitrant laptop, rolls of maps and notebooks filled with coded scribbling. _Is there a missing element? If there is, what?_

Eyelids growing leaden and a warm numbness falling over him like a blanket, Ed surrendered and drifted off to the sound of Al's flute playing in his head. He'd recorded his brother's music whenever he had a chance, and listened to it frequently whenever he was buried deep in coding. It was soothing and helped him think. He'd captured about six different pieces over the past couple months and had listened to them on a constant loop to the point he had each one memorized, but this sounded different somehow.

The last remaining conscious part of his mind rationalized the difference by telling him it was probably just a combination of all the songs his brother had played... or perhaps one he hadn't recorded, but was remembering now...

...but something nagged at him. Something he should be comprehending right now, except he was too damned tired.

Ed's eyes snapped open and he struggled to roll onto his back, but his body felt like it was being held down. Putting everything he had into it, he forced himself over and fought with unconsciousness to search the dark corners of the ceiling.

_Dammit,_ he chastised himself when he saw the blacker-than-black tendrils of the Shadows slithering down from the ceiling toward him. _I should have known. _

For weeks he'd been catching quick glimpses of those... things, just as he was feeling an irresistible need to sleep. They had been keeping themselves near the ceiling, though, and Ed had just ignored them -- refusing to give them any credence or power over him. They were a harbinger, according to Reilly, of bad things about to happen.

_Well,_ Ed thought, _we end up bolting right after I see the damned things, don't we? Bond is always on our asses, though. It's not like we're not expecting him anymore. _

He weakly clenched his fist and tried to muster the energy to get angry, but the numbness brought on by the Shadows presence was damping it down. He wasn't just tired, he was tired of this. _Don't I have enough bullshit to deal with already?_ He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't work, so he resigned himself to a blistering glare at the intruders and thought,_ If you're not here in the name of Light, then in the name of Light begone._

The tendrils hesitated a moment, then withdrew. As they pulled back from hovering over him, Ed felt his energy beginning to return. Able to sit up and think more clearly, he watched the rolling, whirling patch of black with curiosity. Something else about the Shadows floated through his mind... something he'd dismissed as the ravings of a madman. _Are they trying to communicate?_ he wondered. _Why? What do they want with me, anyway? _

Singer had also hinted at the Shadows' connection to the Gate, and Ed was sorely tempted to see what he could find out, but the memory of the last time he's actually had contact with them made him shudder. He sure as hell didn't want to endanger the rest of the remaining group because he wasn't able to move in a hurry.

_But what if they're the missing piece of the puzzle? They travel through the Gates, right? No. It's too risky--_

Ed's waffling came to an abrupt halt when he heard Al moan and saw him writhe uncomfortably in his sleep, then saw a thin tendril snaking downward toward him.

Ed lurched, ready to spring from the bed, but a force hit him in the chest and slammed him back into the mattress. He wriggled and grasped at the invisible hand holding him down, but there was nothing solid to hold on to. Panting from the effort and fear for his younger brother, Ed could only watch as the tendril came ever closer and Al struggled against an invasion he couldn't understand in his sleep.

Screwing up as much anger as he could and using it as a gestalt, Ed tried to shout, but the only sound he made was a tiny squeak. The inside of his head, however, was a thunderous _**Leave him be!**_

It still had the desired effect – the Shadows hesitated, and Ed could almost sense that they were thinking.

_You can hear me, can't you? _he thought.

As though in answer, the tendril drew up and Ed saw his brother calm back into restful sleep. It paused near the ceiling, rolling lazily... waiting.

A thrill of excitement surged through him and he made a decision. _Talk to me,_ he thought at the Shadows.

The entity snapped into a tight sphere and Ed tensed. Before he had a chance to change his mind, a rope of black shot at him, and embraced his skull. He briefly fought for control and consciousness, then he was blanketed by a feeling of being anesthetized.

Images, soft and fuzzy at first, swam through his thoughts, but as he fell deeper into his altered state, they became sharper. Not that they helped him any -- they flashed by rapidly and were a confusing jumble that was a combination of nightmare symbolism and vision. A memory wove its way through the confusion and Ed thought it all felt frighteningly familiar. He knew where he'd experienced this sensation before, but the concrete knowledge of _when_ eluded him.

He waded through the morass of imagery and information in pursuit of the key. Without knowing _how,_ he realized that the elusive memory and the missing element to opening the Gate were one and the same. He came close... reached out to capture the answers he'd desperately been searching for... fingertips just brushing at the memory... tentatively wrapping around it--

--Then he was violently yanked backwards and blinded by a bright, white light.

"Come back! Dammit!" he shouted as he bolted upright in the bed.

"B-brother?" a tiny, frightened and painfully familiar voice stammered from a great distance.

Ed shivered and grimaced, still within the thrall of the memory he'd brought back with him, and instinctively gripped his right shoulder. Hard metal, rather than exposed bone and blood and gristle shocked him to alertness. Almost afraid of what he'd see, he slowly turned toward the voice.

He saw Reilly kneeling on the bed next to him, face pale and eyes wide. "Ed? Say something."

He swallowed and shook and whispered, "Al? Wh-where's Al?"

"I'm here, Ed," Al said softly.

Ed squeezed his eyes closed, then slowly opened them and let them slide past Reilly. Al was still in the other bed, squirming free of Heist's clinging arms... and blessedly whole. Relief washed over him in an overwhelming wave of black spots, and the last thing he heard was Reilly saying, "Oh shit! He's passed out."

0o0o0

**Location: Northeast Oklahoma**

As the sun peeked over the horizon, Maes and Tom were hiking along a pot-hole riddled, barely traveled two-lane highway, into the sunrise. They hadn't stopped the entire night, determined to put as many miles between themselves and the gruesome scene as they could. They hadn't seen anything that sported an internal combustion engine and wheels for over an hour -- with the exception of a farmer that looked to be as ancient as his tractor.

Neither man spoke much unless necessary. While part of the reason was to conserve their wind, they were each lost in their own thoughts, as well.

_A traitor,_ Maes thought. _Who would willingly cooperate with that monster?_ He considered everything he knew about the people he'd been running for his life with for the past three months, and immediately ruled out Ed and Al. _So who's left? Who would be the most likely suspect? Reilly? Doubtful. She's as stubborn and ethical as the boys are._

Then he remembered the Lab Five incident. Ed had come dangerously close to transmuting those prisoners to return Al to his body that day. _Everybody has a price,_ he reminded himself. It wasn't cynicism, but reality. Maes Hughes had seen enough through his years in Intelligence to know that even the best man could be convinced to sell his soul for the right offer.

_But in the end, Ed didn't do it. He couldn't,_ he argued. _And Reilly wouldn't cooperate with Bond, unless he had some way of holding any one of us over her head._ At the moment, that didn't appear to be a likely prospect. _That leaves Tom -- highly improbable -- Ducky and Heist. The weakest link being Heist._

Maes went through everything he knew about the two kids, over and over again, and kept coming to the same conclusion. They were both naive and too trusting, but Ducky had one advantage over Heist -- he'd worked with Tom for a couple of years. Surely _some_ of that old soldier's canniness had rubbed off. Heist, on the other hand, was terribly innocent. Maes knew that she was a year or two older than Ed, but in so many ways, she was far younger.

_But Heist isn't as spoiled as some of the kids I've seen over the past four years,_ he thought. _And she's a good kid, even if she's a bit odd._ Thinking about the things he's heard, whether through conversations between she and Ducky, or things told to Maes, or just what he'd observed, Heist might've bent and broken a few laws -- out of curiosity, for the challenge, or for a good cause, but never with malicious intent. _But she would be the one Bond could find a way to use. The question is... how?_

"Tom, I've been thinking--" Maes said as he glanced at the older man strolling next to him -- and stopped. As Tom faced him, the morning sun caught the greyish cast to his lips, the beads of clammy sweat clinging to his pale forehead and the vivid, almost purple band that crossed his nose from cheek to cheek.

"Dear gods," Maes blurted as he reached out to grasp the other man by the arm. "You need to sit down."

Tom shook his head and fingered his collar, reaching for a thin, silver chain hanging from his neck and kept hidden under his tshirt. "That would be a real bad idea," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"But--"

Tom pulled the necklace out, revealing a tiny, bright red thermos dangling at the end. "If I stop right now, I'll drop dead on the spot. I don't think you want to take that back to Reilly -- she'd be one to kill the messenger." He slowed his pace as he unscrewed the top and shook out a few small, white, pillow-shaped pills. Keeping one and scooping the rest back into the container, he cast a wry glance at Maes and said, "This is going to be fun."

"What is that?"

"Nitro."

"Glycerine?!"

Tom just nodded and brought his hand up to toss the pill into his mouth. Then he paused. "Uh... do me a favor? Make sure I don't eat asphalt, okay? I'm about to get the mother of all headaches."

Perplexed, but willing to go along with the older man, Maes jumped a pace ahead and turned to walk backwards. "Whatever you say, but you look like hell, Tom."

Tom looked like he was about to pop off with some of his normal dry sarcasm, but winced and slipped the pill under his tongue instead. An instant later, he growled, staggering, and clutched at the back of his head with both hands.

Maes opened his mouth to protest once again and order Tom to sit down before he fell down. But the old man anticipated him and waved him away as he continued stumbling and shuffling ever forward.

"Stubborn bastard," Maes muttered as he kept close, ready to catch him if he fell. "Now I know where Reilly gets it."

Panting and groaning through the pain, still holding onto the base of his scalp, Tom managed to say, "--'m n-ot st... ubborn."

"Right. And Ed's passive, Ducky's sane, and Reilly wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful."

A choked sound came from the other man that alarmed Maes... until he realized that Tom was chuckling and hurting because of it.

"Asshole," Tom groaned. His voice was weak, but he was gradually getting stronger and moving easier. A few minutes later, he was able to hold his head up and give Maes a squinting, bloodshot glare. His color was leagues better, but the band across his face was now a bright red, giving him an embarrassed flush.

"You look like you just pictured some woman naked," Maes quipped, relieved that Tom was apparently past his crisis.

"That would be you," Tom said. "It would be more like I'd pictured y--" he stopped, cocked his head to the side and grinned lecherously. "Nope, already did that and didn't blush. Ah!" He suddenly veered off toward the tree-line. Sagging down onto a stump in the shade, he said, "_Now_ I can sit down."

Maes followed, shaking his head and chuckling. Damn that bastard sure knew how to throw a curve when anyone would least expect it.

Tom fished his cellphone from his pocket as Maes collapsed into the grass next to him. Flipping it open, then powering it up, the older man visibly cheered. "We have a signal finally." The phone blipped and chirped as he found the number he wanted. As he brought it up to his ear, he said, "Not a word to anyone about tha-- Reilly! Yes, yes, we're both alive and unharmed, but the Fiasco gave its life to save ours, Dear."


	34. Ch 25d Move em On Head em Up Rawhide!

_**Balance of Power - Chapter 25 - Part Four**_

**"Move 'em on, Head 'em Up... Rawhide!"  
Arc One: Chapter 25  
Balance of Power**

**Part Four**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie SPOILER HEAVY and slightly AU**

**August 13, 2006  
Location: Central Oklahoma**

Heist sat on the edge of her bed... replaying and replaying and replaying...

Pandora had spoken softly, but not soft enough... like someone worried she'd be overheard. More like... someone trying to deny what was being said.

_"That monster has been playing every card in the deck, just to mess with us. Obviously he'd say that just to twist the knife a little more!"_

"Well I don't give a fuck! It's bullshit!"

Heist rubbed at her forehead. Reilly's voice had been adamant. Her mother hen instincts were at full capacity now that her chicks were in danger. To drag it out a little further, she'd never suspect one of them was a rotten egg. Heist couldn't even berate herself for the horrible euphemism. She couldn't even move from the bed. She had a sudden mental image of archaeologists, a thousand years from now, discovering her desiccated mummy still frozen on the mouldered remains of a hotel bed. She wondered if the cell phone in her hand would be considered a museum piece by then.

With the thumb of her right hand, she flipped the cover open and shut, open and shut... the heavy _clup_ the only sound in the room. She wondered how much time she had left before anyone caught her out. Pandora and Al had only gone to the pop machine, Ducks was just outside, with his head in the doghouse, and Terminator was making a good attempt at using up all the hot water. She couldn't wait any longer. And she had to find out... how much of a patsy she'd really been.

Reaching to her side, she grabbed the small blade pilfered from Ducky's (now Al's) toolkit -- _Hope no one misses this one_ -- off the coverlet...

_It's just part of the phone._

But she knew it wasn't true. She recognized the parts that belonged there, the tiny speaker, the connective circuits, the small collection of metal points littered across the plastic motherboard. But this piece was different. And it knew it'd been found.

The tiny filament reared back, testing the air like an inchworm, waving back and forth. Horrified, Heist jerked to her feet, tossing the phone to the floor like it had burned her. Imagined images of Kitten's death ran through her head, and she heard her own voice whimper as she backed away numbly, hand fumbling for the door. But the device didn't explode.

Curling back down, it stiffened briefly, then dove, the pointed tip burying itself in the exposed circuits. There was a tiny hiss, and a curl of powerfully acrid smoke wisped up from the phone. When it dissipated, nothing remained of the device -- or the phone -- but a dusting of metallic powder.

She rubbed her hands up her arms, still clutching the exact-o knife in a tight fist. _Now what?!_ She could just hear herself trying to explain this to Reilly, _'Yeah, funny thing happened! I was ordering a pizza when this crazy robot worm showed up and pulverized my phone. It's okay though, I managed to place my order first... but if we stop at a mall, I need to hit one of those cellular bodegas...' Oh yeah, totally plausible._

She was still staring at the pile of metallic ash. Sid... Bond... he had to know, now. He had to realize his little toy had been discovered. Given prior experience, she knew he wouldn't be letting this slide either. In all actuality, she'd expected the small device to detonate and take off half her face. The fact that he'd designed it to simply destroy her phone was frighteningly telling. 

He was still playing with her.

What was worse was that he knew her very well. Even as she stooped to begin hiding the evidence of her discovery, she tried to tell herself that he couldn't predict everything she'd do. She was a unique individual... she had her own mind, her own motives... and damned if she'd let him win! The last bits of powder disappeared into the fibers of the carpet. Standing, Heist examined her hands to see them coated in what looked almost like graphite. She wiped them on her pants with minimal success, and proceeded to the bathroom to wash up instead.

As hot water poured over her fingertips, she took a shaky breath and stared at her reflection in the dingy mirror. Stringy hair, still showing traces of odd color, hung over her forehead. Her skin looked pallid, her cheeks hollow and dark. And her eyes, half-hidden by thick glasses, were dead. She suddenly chuckled. Why bother hiding evidence, she already looked like a damn felon...

"What the fuck, Heist!" Ed shrieked at her.

She started and twisted around to find him blinking shampoo from his eyes and trying to look pissed. He failed miserably. Between the furious shade of red to his face, the wad of lather rolling down his forehead between his eyes, and the way he held the edge of the shower curtain up to his neck, he reminded her more of her old, sour-puss of a maiden aunt, whom, everyone swore, changed clothes in the dark and probably bathed with a swimsuit.

She'd totally forgotten he was in here. Thinking fast, she turned the tables and jabbed a finger at him "What the fuck, yourself, Term. I have to go, and I can't wait any longer." At that, she unsnapped the waist-band of her jeans.

It had the desired effect. Ed turned a deeper shade of red, and darted behind the shower curtain. "Dammit." An automail hand shot back out and waved at her. "Well... hurry the hell up, will ya?"

Heist faked a grin and returned to washing the smudge off her hands. The water only helped a little, but at least the stains had lightened somewhat. Shaking her fingertips, she turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel from the rack over the toilet. A quick scrub left a dingy film on the soft fabric, and she tossed the soiled towel to the floor. She returned to the room and dropped down heavily on the edge of the bed, letting her head sink to her hands. _I'm so sorry... Reilly, Tom, Ducky... I let you guys down. Ed, Al... you'd be right not to trust me. You'd be better off if I just left the group right now._ Except nobody, least of all Reilly, would ever let her disappear into the night. The only thing running away would serve would be to distract everyone even more, and give Bond a nice little opening. She couldn't do that... even though she deserved it. Maybe though... once everyone was safe...

Heist let her head fall back on the bed and she threw her arm over her eyes. She hardly noticed when Reilly and Al returned; didn't register Ducky coming back into the room.

It was all so fucked...

She heard the door open again, and Reilly's voice raise suddenly in perturbed alarm.

"Dammit Tom!! You look like shit! I thought you said you were okay..." 

...So completely, totally, thoroughly, jacked-in-the-ass... fucked.

0o0o0

It took Ed at least fifteen minutes to stop cursing Heist, and get his heart and breathing back under control, then another ten minutes before he fell back into his previous meditative state...

...And the idea came to him just as he was rinsing his hair and at first Ed mistook his extreme stroke of genius to a loss of hot water, such was the sudden spine-tingling chill that coursed through him. Then he remembered that after at least half a dozen similar showers in the past however long they'd been at this particular run-down motel, the abundant hot water seemed to be the only thing going for it. No, this was his body's way of congratulating him, his understanding was now complete, everything had finally fallen into place -- everything made _sense._

And with that feeling of accomplishment, Ed all but burst out of the bathroom, barely making himself decent with his towel before all eyes in the cramped room turned on him.

Unfortunately, they weren't the eyes he was expecting to see.

_"Gah!"_ Ed exclaimed as he tightened his hold on the towel, feeling his face erupt into a flaming ball of heat even before he noticed his scarlet reflection in the dingy dresser mirror.

"Shouldn't that be _eureka?"_ Hughes inquired somewhat innocently, trying -- and succeeding rather well, Ed thought offhandedly -- to keep from smirking.

Reilly, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding her amusement. "Everything all right, Ed?"

"Where's Al?" he blurted in response.

"With Ducky, Tom, and Heist on a food and caffeine fun," Reilly replied, plopping down next to Hughes on one of the small, rickety beds.

Ed looked between Hughes and Reilly and back to Hughes. "Tom, too? When did you and Tom get back?"

"Ten minutes ago," Hughes supplied, resuming his channel surfing on the ancient, slightly fuzzy TV.

"How long was I--"

"Over thirty minutes and counting," Reilly finished. "Heist still can't believe you take longer showers than she does."

Ed mulled that over briefly, wondering for one surreal moment why the heck Heist cared how long he showered. Then he remembered the embarrassing interruption earlier and in self-defense his brain backtracked to the proper point in time where it had registered Hughes sitting in the room. Half a second later, Ed had vaulted over to the older man's side, the hand not holding his towel fisting the front of Hughes' shirt. "What the hell happened?!"

Completely unaffected by the threat of possible violence, Hughes shrugged and said, "Oh, you know... Caught up with bad guy, he got the better of us, we retreated to figure out the next step. The typical, highly predictable action flick plot."

Ed blinked and let go of the other man's shirt. "You people and your movies," he grumbled a moment before understanding kicked in. "Wait... You're back. Does that mean...?"

Hughes nodded grimly. "Bond is still running loose."

"That's fantastic!"

"What?!" both Hughes and Reilly sputtered in unison.

Ed shook his head and waved a hand. "No, I mean... It's not great that Bond is still out there, but it's great that you're back, because--" His over-excited mind caught up with his mouth and he stopped himself just in time. Hughes didn't need to know just yet, because if Ed was wrong he didn't think he could bear the shattering disappointment his friend would feel.

"Because what, Ed?" Hughes prompted.

"N-never mind." Ed pointed at the bathroom and stammered, "I... think I'll finish my shower. Bang on the door when Al gets back." Then he shook his finger at Hughes, "You? Don't go anywhere. Got me?"

Hughes snickered and sketched a sharp salute. "Yes, sir!"

Ed really didn't need to jump back in the shower, but he did anyways, turning the water up as high and as hot as he could stand.

_Damnit, Al, I need to talk to you,_ he cursed silently, wishing his brother had chosen to stay behind while the others went out for supplies. _No,_ he thought, _there's no need to get upset with Al. If it were me, I wouldn't have wanted to stay and be the only one to interrupt... whatever the hell Hughes and Reilly have going on._

He dreaded going into the main part of the room, though not for fear of walking in on a reenactment of what happened in the Branch's secret garden. No, Ed was more concerned with the fact that every minute he spent out of the bathroom was one more minute he would have to spend in the company of the two people in this world who knew him better than anyone but Al. With Reilly and Hughes' ability to read him like a book, there was no way he was going to keep his secret.

_But I have to. Al should to be the first to know -- I __**need**__ him to be the first to know. Because if he doesn't agree that it'll work... no one else __**will **__know._

That thought sustained him as he finally left the security of the shower, toweled off, and dressed. He still hadn't heard the others return, but Ed had remained in the bathroom for as long as he thought he could get away with before anyone got suspicious and came in after him. He took a few deep breaths and attempted the most nonchalant expression that he could muster. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he opted for what was hopefully a more normal look of irritated confusion.

"You know, Hughes--" Reilly's voice startled him as he emerged from the bathroom and Ed's heart skipped a beat.

_Fastest failed attempt at anything, ever._

He peered around the door; Reilly and Hughes were sitting together on one of the beds, watching a talk show with a lot of people yelling at each other. "--I'm not quite sure Ed's clean enough," Reilly continued, wrapping an arm around Hughes' shoulders amicably, still absorbed in the television and oblivious to Ed's distress, "Maybe he should spend another hour in there."

"At the very least," Hughes agreed, turning to wink at him.

Ed swallowed hard, and he was quite sure Hughes had caught the terrified glance he'd shot at Reilly. And there it was, the slight narrowing of green eyes, the faintest of frowns starting to tug at the corners of his mouth.

_I am so busted._

Ed wracked his brain for a way out to keep Hughes from asking the question he knew he was moments away from asking. _Come on, genius, think of something -- anything -- quick, Reilly's turning around, oh shi--_

"Would you mind explaining exactly how you got here, Hughes?" Ed blurted.

Hughes' eyebrows shot up in surprise and Ed could almost see him weighing his options. Without missing a beat and tipping Reilly off, he cleared his throat and started from when he and Tom had parted ways with the rest of the group.

Ed was too busy pretending to be interested to pay attention to what Hughes actually said.

0o0o0

Al almost wished he had stayed behind and let the others get supplies. He and Ducky and Heist were on their way out when Hughes and Tom had returned. Before they'd even heard what happened, Tom said he'd tag along and all but ushered them into the Ninjavan by hand. In all his years in armor, traveling different worlds, and simply being Ed's brother, Al had never experienced a more awkward hour of his life. For the entire trip to the closest restaurant and coffee shop, he watched the other three engage in a verbal sparring match that would have put General Mustang to shame. Maybe even Teacher, too.

Al tried to figure out what they were really saying between the unspoken accusations and not-quite-retaliatory-insults, but by the time they arrived back at their motel, he was no closer to understanding than when they'd left. All he knew was that Tom and Heist had taken opposing sides, and Ducky was torn between agreeing with them both. And whatever it was, they were making a point not to let Al know any more than he had to. Which, he wanted to yell at them, they had done a fine job at doing.

Irritated, Al just wanted to eat his dinner and call it a day. So, of course, he walked into their room to find his brother rubbing absently at his right shoulder and making a half-assed attempt at not being distracted. In no mood to deal with another person's secrets, Al simply dumped his load of food on the dresser, grabbed the toolkit Ducky let them use for Ed's automail, and while the more vocal members of the group heralded their return, pulled Ed into the bathroom.

"You know," Al said without preamble, digging through the kit for the right tools, "if your arm was bothering you, you could have asked Hughes or even Reilly."

"Al it's--"

"I know they don't know as much as I do about it--"

"Al, the automia--"

"--but they could have at least followed your directions, better than you being in pain--"

_"Al--"_

"What is wrong with everyone today?" Al exclaimed, smacking the counter with his fist.

"My automail's not a problem!"

Al blinked, his previous irritation replaced with confusion and then a hesitant excitement. Ed was looking at him hopefully, expectantly, searching for some sign of understanding. Al knew that expression -- well, he had envisioned that expression -- had dreamed about what it would look like for years. Before his brother had even spoken the words, Al knew exactly what he was going to say.

They were going home.

0o0o0

Maes leaned back against the headboard and watched. Reilly was pacing back and forth in the narrow space between the beds, chewing her nails and shooting worried glances between the two men and occasionally at Heist and Ducky. She hadn't said anything ever since Tom had declared it best if he and Maes spoke to the group as a whole, rather than having to repeat themselves when Ed and Al finally emerged from the bathroom.

_We're going to have our hands full when Ed finds out,_ he thought, as he shifted to sit on the side of the bed closest to the door.

_And what in the hell are they doing in there?_ He didn't think it should take ten minutes for Al to make a few minor adjustments to Ed's automail, but that was how long they'd been hiding. And it was disturbingly quiet in there, too. There had been irritated words from Al at first, but then there was an excited exclamation, followed by a lot of indecipherable whispers. Then the shower came back on and he couldn't hear a thing.

Heist and Ducky continued to jabber manically over their dinner -- although, Maes noted, the girl wasn't actually eating so much as she was just pushing the food around in the styrofoam tray. She appeared to be trying to make herself as small as possible by putting her chair in the far corner, pulling her knees against her chest and wedging herself in as tightly as possible. She didn't even meet anyone's eyes, opting to focus on her meal or dart a nervous glance at the bathroom door.

Tom, who was leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, gave Maes slight head-shake.

_So she didn't tell him anything,_ he thought. _But she acts like she knows something. Not good._ From the way Ducky hovered -- the rigid and quick jabbing of his fork into his food belaying his seemingly casualness as he leaned against the wall close to her -- Maes had a sinking feeling that the young man knew more than he was letting on, as well. _Even worse._

This wasn't going to end well.

_We need to get this unpleasantness over with. Now,_ he decided as he pushed himself off the bed and went to pound on the bathroom door.

He'd just raised his hand to knock, when the door flew open and he was nearly bowled over by an excited Elric. He'd managed to catch Al and keep them both from tumbling, but didn't miss the face-splitting grins on both boys' that disappeared in an instant as they glanced around the room.

"What's going on?" Ed asked.

"We need to talk," Maes said...

...And Heist burst into hysterical sobs.

0o0o0

Ed didn't hear anything after Heist confessed to telling Bond where and when they were going to break Al out of the hospital. All he could recall was the sensation of a light-headed chill when he realized just how close he'd come to losing his little brother again... permanently. Voices all around him sounded like they were far away and being channeled through a long tunnel -- and none of the words spoken made any sense at that point. Then, like a fire had started beneath him, heat began at his feet and surged upward as a red haze filled his vision. He felt disconnected from his own body -- unable to control it, unable to think, watching himself from outside.

He had no idea what happened after she revealed herself for the back-stabbing traitor she was, but he suddenly found himself with his back bent over the dresser and his skull against the jagged remains of a shattered mirror while something heavy and sweaty pressed hard on his throat and Ducky, face grotesquely twisted in fury, hovered over him so close he could smell the Chernobyl Chicken on his breath and the metallic odor of fear from the hacker's sweating brow.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear anything beyond the pounding thunder of blind rage. He could only see a swiftly narrowing tunnel in a sea of black. The only sound he made was a feral snarl and his only desire was to eliminate the most immediate threats to his brother's life, his own could be damned if it came to that.

"Brother, don't!" Al's voice cut through the roar of blood-lust in Ed's ears, bringing him back.

When he tore his gaze from the cold anger in Ducky's eyes and skated down past his chin, Ed was shocked to discover he was holding the tip of a dagger against the soft spot beneath the other man's jaw. Ed couldn't remember at what point he'd transmuted his automail.

Then the weight and pressure on his throat disappeared without a warning. Gasping and coughing as he stood, he rubbed his at his larynx and shook his head to clear it. He froze when he saw Hughes in front of him with one of his own spade-knives ready.

"Are you going to force me to kick your ass, Ed?" Hughes asked softly.

In answer to the question, Ed clapped and returned his automail hand to normal. Shame burned him as he gazed to the right of Hughes and saw the trepidation and sadness in Al's eyes, then he glanced to the left and watched Tom usher Ducky out of the room. Of Heist and Reilly, there was no sign. "Where--?"

With a relieved breath, Hughes glanced away and returned the knife to his belt. "They're outside. Reilly's trying to calm her down." 

When Hughes met Ed's gaze again, the disappointment he saw there felt like the serrated edge of one of the man's knives had eviscerated him. He should have listened, but he lost his temper instead and Ed couldn't remember when he'd been so terrified and furious of what could have been. And he'd never been so damned pissed at himself, for not seeing it earlier. For almost three months, they'd traveled together, ate together, slept in the same room, and Ed never once suspected that Heist was feeding Bond information. He was just as responsible for endangering them all as that traitor was.

"I should have figured it out. I should have known."

"Nobody knew," Tom said as he leaned his hip against the table and pried open his own cellphone. "Except Ducky. And he didn't figure it out until recently."

"Brother," Al said as he joined Ed against the dresser. "She didn't know Bond was bad until that day in the parking garage."

Hughes held up a hand, halting any protest Ed might've had, and added, "And before you ask, she didn't say anything because she was scared." The older man's expression softened, silently begging for understanding. "In many ways, Heist and Ducky are younger than you. You have to remember, this isn't Amestris or Post-World War One Germany."

"But why didn't Ducky say anything?" Ed queried.

"He was protecting Heist," Tom said as he pried the back of Reilly's phone open.

Hughes smiled. "You would have done the same thing for Winry."

Ed thought of his childhood friend fondly. Hughes was right; Ed would do anything to protect her... even if it meant lying -- to her or others. Even... if it meant killing someone.

_Like Ducky damn near did to me._

"I can accept that she was naive," Ed said. "But I won't trust her again."

"No one will," Tom said as he pried open the last phone in the pile. "She knows this. But we're not going to throw her to Bond, either." He tossed the cell onto the table and gave Hughes a grim look. "They're all clean."

Al glanced from one man to the other, and said, "That's good news, right?"

Tom shook his head. "'Fraid not, kiddo. It means that Bond will know for a fact that we found his little bug, and he'll be pissed."

"What about the computers?" Hughes asked.

"We need to make sure Ed and Reilly made back-ups, before we even touch them," Tom said. "I'm guessing that Bond will have any critters embedded into them react the same way Heist's cell did when she found it."

"We're not going to have much time to plan our next move," Hughes said.

"I have a suggestion," Al piped up and Ed grinned.

Tom and Hughes faced the younger Elric, brows raised in invitation and interest.

Ed's smile went devious, as he said, "We'll just give Stealthworks what he wants."

"Aren't we trying to avoid any more killing here?" Tom asked, wryly.

"And that bastard would see right through a lie," Hughes added.

"Disinformation," Al said. "It's not a lie, but what Bond believes is his own problem."

Hughes scratched at the back of his head and scowled. "You two are starting to sound a lot like Roy. It's rather disturbing, actually."

Ed waved at the bed and said, "Hughes, you might want to sit down for this."

Comprehension struck the boys' old friend with the force of a ten-ton wrecking ball. Hughes' knees gave out as he collapsed, missing the edge of the bed and dropping him with a muffled thud onto the floor. He went pale as he stammered, the words barely heard. "Y-you did it? We... we're--"

Al knelt next to Hughes, laying a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "We're going home, Maes."

Hughes swallowed and his eyes misted, then he wrapped a hesitant arm around Al's waist, drawing him close. Burying his face into the boy's shoulder, he reached blindly out to Ed with his other hand.

Uncertain and awkward, Ed slowly let his fingers touch his palm, then found himself yanked down and crushed against Hughes' chest. The intensity of emotion was impossible to resist. Ed felt his own eyes begin to sting and found his own arms embrace his brother and dear friend as the words he'd never dared utter aloud, even as he'd worked tirelessly on the solution and finally found the key, were repeated over and over by Hughes. "Home. We're going home. We're going home."

No one heard the door softly close as Tom went outside to give them this time alone.

0o0o0

Later, after Maes and the boys had called everyone back in and made the announcement, Tom found Reilly -- along with his mysteriously disappearing pack of cigarettes -- at the far end of the promenade. She'd slipped away during the excitement of the boys describing how they were going to open the Gate and get home, and had taken up residence on the top step as far away from their room as possible. She had her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin on her knees, staring through the step under her feet; the cigarette burning away between her fingers -- unnoticed and unsmoked. What little he could see of her face was blank... neutral, her eyes were dry, but the tightness across her back and shoulders spoke eloquently of her distress.

She wasn't so far into her own head that she didn't hear him approach, because as soon as he came up behind her, she wordlessly scooted aside to give him room.

_Well, that's a good sign,_ he thought as he squeezed himself into the space next to her.

She handed his cigarettes and lighter over to him, and he lit one... waiting. It wasn't going to do much good to go on the offensive here -- all he would be able to do for now, was play the silent audience while she beat herself up. Once the storm blew past, he might be able to say something wise and profound that would make her shattered world all shiny and new again... but he seriously doubted it.

_How many more times can she take getting kicked in the head before she doesn't get back up again?_ he wondered, feeling a twinge of guilt. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, but it didn't make him ache any less for the woman who was like a daughter to him. _Let's take a woman who has a huge heart and a giving soul, and dangle happiness in front of her, then yank it away over and over again, and see how long it takes to break her,_ he thought sourly. _The Fates have a sick, twisted sense of humour. It's a good thing I don't believe in them... fucking pricks._

They sat in silence, long enough for him to finish his cigarette, before she finally spoke. "You may as well say it and get it over with."

"I know we've been running all over Hell and Creation, lately," he said, "but I think we're still in the U.S."

She rolled her eyes his way and glared. "Your point?"

"Well, if I were to say 'I told you so', that would qualify as Double Jeopardy. You can't be convicted of the same crime twice, and I think you're doing a damned fine job of punishing yourself."

Reilly sighed and curled in on herself. "I should be... for what I'm feeling." She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs and laid her forehead on her knees, hiding her face behind her curls. "I'm... ashamed of myself."

"Why?" Tom asked. Although he already knew the answer, he wanted to make her voice the reason and perhaps realize that she really didn't need to immolate herself after all. He knew if she kept up this cycle of blame, shame and damnation, she'd rip herself apart.

"Why?" she repeated with a short, bitter laugh. "Isn't it obvious?" She faced him and Tom saw the guilt etched in the lines around her eyes and mouth, stark and sickly in the yellow neon light that trimmed the motel roof. "They were so happy -- _he_ was so happy. I-- I had to walk out, because if I didn't, I'd make an idiot of myself and--" She cut herself off, swallowing and turning away from him; hovering on the edge of losing the tenuous control she was desperately holding on to.

Tom wrapped an arm around her and gently rubbed a thumb along her shoulder. There really wasn't anything he could say. He was going to miss Ed and Al and Maes too, but he was a cynical old bastard and he'd developed an emotional suit of armor that protected him -- except he didn't really believe that was so much of a good thing. Reilly wore her heart on her sleeve, and as a result got punched in the arm over and over again. It hurt, he knew. It hurt a lot, but he couldn't help thinking that her capacity to feel... to _love_... made her the stronger and better of them.

"I wanted to scream at him," she whispered finally, "to beg him to stay... t-to stay with _me_." Reilly took a deep shuddering breath and a tremor shook her. "His wife and daughter... his best friend... they all think he's dead. Everyone who matters now, is _here._" She sobbed once and covered her face with a hand while she struggled with her hurt and shame. "I should be happy for them. I should be smiling and nodding and wishing them the best of luck. Instead I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself because they're leaving." Reilly jammed her elbows into her knees and grasped two fists-full of hair, and hissed, "I'm despicable. Selfish, self-centered--"

"Grieving," Tom said.

She stilled and slowly turned to peer at him from around her arm.

"To us, they're as good as dead the minute they cross that Gate, Reilly," Tom said. "They're not moving across the country; they're going to another world, entirely. There is no possibility that you'll ever see any of them again." He pulled her close and wrapped the other arm around her in a comforting embrace. "It's not selfish to feel that way, and it sure as hell ain't despicable. It's human and it sucks like a bitch."

He'd warned her, but there was no weapon or word he could have used to get through to her heart... so he watched helplessly as she grew deeply fond of Edward, wrapped her heart around Alphonse and fell hopelessly in love with Maes. He went along with her as they all risked their lives for those three, as she lost everything that was her life for them. More than once, Tom had wished he'd convinced her to turn Ed over to the authorities that night -- it would have prevented a whole shitload of drama. It was logical; it would have been the 'right' thing to do -- back when he was in Intelligence. But the simple truth was, he would be no more able to do that to the kid than she could.

When she trembled again and he heard the soft sniffle against his shoulder, he knew the flood was coming. With a gentle kiss on her temple and a tightening of his arms around her, he silently gave her permission to grieve. He wasn't going to judge her -- not this time.

She took it. Burying her face into his neck and wrapping her arms around him, she shook with ragged sobs while her desires crumbled to dust along with her broken dreams.

0o0o0

A mute witness to Reilly's anguish, Ed silently spun on his heel to return to the cramped room -- and nearly crashed into his younger brother. They shared a look and then glanced back at the sobbing figure of their friend.

Moments after Reilly had slipped out, the joy at the possibility of returning home had faded, and Hughes' good mood had collapsed into depression. He'd quietly excused himself and disappeared into the bathroom, and while all anyone heard was the shower running, Ed knew there was more going on.

He tore his gaze from Reilly and Tom and softly asked, "Al, are... are we doing the right thing?"

The younger Elric watched the grieving woman a moment, empathy for her pain in the shining of his eyes, the trembling lip, the way he wrapped his arms around himself. "No matter what choice we make Brother, people are going to end up hurt." 

Both of them remained where they were for a long moment, watching silently. Then Al laid a comforting hand on Ed's left shoulder, and said, "I think this is the best thing we can do, though."

Ed hung his head and ground his teeth as he rhythmically clenched and unclenched his right fist. _Why does it always have to be this way? How much longer are other people going to have to pay for our mistake? _he railed silently.

0o0o0o0o0o0

**August 15, 1915 -- 1:10 pm  
Central City, Amestris**

Roy Mustang stretched his legs, looking up from his reading and surveying the city park around him. He shifted a little on the bench, angling his head back to loosen his stiff neck. He'd been bent over the anthropology book for almost an hour, propping it on one knee with a notepad on the other, jotting rough notes as he read. Although a tall tree shaded the bench, the sun was high overhead and he'd begun to grow warm. He undid the top button on his shirt and bent again to his notes, the sound of bird song providing musical accompaniment to his thoughts.

Normally he wouldn't spend time reading a book discussing theories of religion; to say his own experiences had made him skeptical was an understatement. But this book presented the theories objectively yet inoffensively, without sinking into a swamp of untestable mysticism. And one theory had leapt out at him as soon as he'd seen a particular name on one of the pages: Risembool.

It had once been considered a sacred place, until about 400 years ago when the scientific world view had taken hold and religious interpretations of the world receded into history. The inhabitants of the area had not only believed Risembool a sacred place (it was why they'd founded the village), but had believed that one spot on a nearby hill was a particular site of power. A place, in fact, where one could access another plane of existence.

Alchemy had only been in its rudimentary beginnings, back then. And even modern alchemists, for the most part, had never had a concept of portals to another world, until recently. Roy himself would have dismissed this idea as outdated magical thinking before the events of the last three years.

And he wasn't alone in this. A newspaper article had been stuck into the book; he'd assumed it was only a bookmark until he read it. It reported an academic conference, 50 years ago, just after the book's publication. At that conference, the researcher had presented his theory and been ferociously ridiculed for it. The lynchpin holding it together was the ancient people's belief that places like Risembool were somehow linked to another site of access to other planes -- a site that should have been located in the middle of Central itself. And no researcher had found a single shred of evidence that people in this area had ever believed in a portal to some other plane of existence.

They hadn't known, then, about the dead underground city with the huge transmutation circle in the midst of its empty, tilted buildings.

Roy had pulled some maps from Central Records, heart pounding as he'd spread them on his kitchen table at home and begun to calculate. As far as he could ascertain, the location of the site of power at Risembool was the exact spot where Hohenheim had built the house in which he and Trisha Elric lived. Hohenheim, who had also been responsible for the array in the dead, buried city.

That house was where Edward and Alphonse had attempted their human transmutation, and encountered something vastly more powerful than they'd expected. It was where Ed's limbs had been taken, and Al's body.

It was also, more recently, the site of at least two earth tremors.

Again Roy shifted, shutting the book and the pad, and setting them beside him. As he laid his arms along the back of the bench, watching people sitting or walking in the park, he caught sight of two people he knew, strolling along the far edge of the grass: Gracia Hughes, walking her daughter Elysia back to school after her lunch hour. The girl had just begun second grade.

He hesitated, wondering if he should walk over and greet them. They'd gotten in touch again, this past year since his return to Central, and Gracia sometimes invited him over for dinner. This area of the city, a few blocks behind the military headquarters, had been spared for the most part, when the invasion had happened last year; that was one of the reasons Roy occasionally brought his lunch to this park, to enjoy the unspoiled scenery and escape the din of reconstruction. He'd made sure that the few cosmetic repairs (some cracked roads and toppled fences) were made almost immediately, privately determined to do it as a favour to Gracia and in memory of her husband. He'd been remiss in leaving his friend's family unsupervised for the last two years, and was determined to make that up to them. Although he'd still made sure to send birthday presents to Elysia, every year since...

No. _Oh, Maes._ A wave of fresh grief washed over him, and he wondered if the pain of their mutual loss would ever really lessen. Some days it was still too much for him. He didn't think he'd go over and catch up to them today. Maybe he'd call them tomorrow.

He tilted his head back, searching in the tree branches for the singing bird. The high, mournful tones of its call reminded him, for some reason, of flute music.

Roy grabbed the book and pad, and stood up, striding out of the park. He didn't think he'd call Gracia tomorrow, after all. He was going to do something else instead.

He was taking a train to Risembool.


	35. Ch 26 Keep a Candle in the Window

**Balance of Power - Chapter 26 - Part One**

**"Keep a Candle in the Window"**

**Arc One: Chapter 26**

**Balance of Power**

**Part One**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**August 18, 1919**

**Risembool, Amestris**

Pinako Rockbell strolled with Den toward the hill southwest of their home and shop, ignoring the trailing sweat down her spine and temples. The sun had just peeked up over the horizon and already the air was heavy and hot and threatening rain. An empty threat. If there was any precipitation at all, it would only be enough to make it muggier. Even the cicadas, who so often announced the rising heat during the summer by buzzing louder, seemed too lazy to expend the energy in this humidity.

Of course, it would be too much to hope that the weather would deter the rubberneckers.

As had been the tradition for the past three years, Pinako made the one kilometer trek over the hill twice daily; the time of day varied, but it was always, without fail, morning and afternoon. She usually tried to time it at least an hour or so after the train had come through town, but some days her work or, like today, the temperature would have other ideas.

At first she was chasing groups of people away from the skeletal remains of the burnt ruins daily, but eventually the morbid fascination with the childhood home of The People's Alchemist waned, and only a handful of diehard fanatics continued to arrive at predictable times of the year. It was mid-August now, and the pilgrims would begin to get more plentiful as the anniversary of the last time Edward had 'officially' been seen grew near.

She was unsurprised, then, when she noticed a lone figure standing on the crest of that hill near the Elric property. He wasn't like most of the people who came to gawk, though. More often than not, they were simple folk who had been helped by Ed and Al, and had elevated the brothers to mythical status... or teenaged girls who worshiped the legends and knew nothing about the boys. This man's clothes were obviously new and off-the-rack from a big city store, not hand-me-downs or homemade, and his dark hair was deliberately shaggy, cut by a professional, rather than done at home by a friend or family member.

Den yapped and trotted ahead of her to greet the new arrival, nosing into his right hand when he didn't instantly acknowledge her. When he finally noticed the dog, he knelt next to her with a gentle smile and affectionate stroke, as a light breeze ruffled his overly long bangs. And Pinako's breath caught in her throat.

Nearly half his face was covered with a patch of black fabric now, but she had never forgotten it since the first time she had met Roy Mustang one horrible, rainy night... eight years ago.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**August 18, 2006**

**Central Oklahoma**

"Would you mind not crowding me, Al?" Ed grumbled, hunched over the laptop, one shoulder leaning against the wall of the booth in the diner. His finger hissed quickly around on the mousepad, moving the cursor back and forth across the screen. The noise in the diner -- forks tinkling on plates, spoons clinking in coffee cups, and the subdued chatter of other patrons -- formed a backdrop of white noise as he concentrated on his search. His half-eaten breakfast of bacon and eggs had been pushed aside and forgotten, although now and then he reached absently aside and took a sip from Al's coffee cup.

"Sorry, but I'm being pushed," his brother responded, glancing aside at Ducky and Heist, both straining against him and trying to see the laptop screen.

"You should sit in the middle, Ed," Ducky suggested, "so we can all see better."

"Oh right," Ed muttered, "so I'd get to be shoved from both sides. No thanks." He frowned at the map on the screen, the leylines streaking across it in complete disregard of legal geographical boundaries, and certainly in disregard of mundane things like roads. "I don't know about this. How am I going to figure out the best place to find the right Gate? These lines are all over the place."

"Well, let's think," Hughes remarked from across the table, where he sat along the wall, next to Reilly and down from Tom. He was in the stage of leaning back and comfortably sipping his coffee, having sated himself with sausages, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast. He swallowed and commented, "There's always Reilly's place. We know there's a Gate there. And we already know it works."

Ed glared at him in horror. "Are you insane, Hughes?? If we ever went back there, we'd be caught for sure! You know the place is being watched by the--"

Hughes held up his hands, laughing, "Ed, Ed! Relax. I didn't mean it. I know we can't go back there. I was just kidding, okay? Gee, don't you have any sense of humor left?" He picked up his coffee mug again, his grin disappearing into it.

Ed pursed his lips, his frown turning to a glower at Ducky's snicker, off to his left. He decided to ignore both of them, and bent back over the computer, shaking his head. "But on the other hand," he murmured, eyes narrowing as a thought occurred to him, "even if we can't go back there, I suppose we could find another place with properties similar to that one..." He continued moving the cursor around, eyes darting back and forth across the screen as he searched.

Vaguely, without registering them, he heard the calls continuing at the far end of the diner, as waiters placed bizarre orders through the kitchen window: "Adam and Eve on a raft, whiskey down, wreck 'em! Cowboy with spurs! And fry two, with sunshine!"

"It would help," Reilly added, pressing a fork down through three layers of French toast, "if you can find a conjunction of two or three lines -- preferably long lines that haven't been crossed by others. The place they meet, the sacred place, will be the Gate."

"I can't believe I'm finally going along with all that mumbo jumbo," Ed quirked an amused eyebrow at her, "but thanks. I'll show you if I find something." He heard movement as someone abandoned their place leaning against Al, and slid into the booth behind him. With a soft slither of cloth on faux leather, the person leaned over his shoulder.

"Any good candidates yet?" Heist wondered, her breath lightly stirring a few strands of his hair.

Ed fought down the urge to snap at her, but couldn't prevent the tingling of discomfort that spread across his shoulders, as though he expected a knife in his back at any moment. He gave his head a single terse shake, saying nothing.

"What about there?" Ducky stretched across as Al leaned back to accommodate him, and tapped a light finger on a likely conjunction.

Ed turned the screen slightly toward him. "I looked at that one, but it's in the middle of a big ravine. See? And I don't see any roads going in there. We'd have to dump the van and hike quite a distance. And probably get lost."

"I might be able to rig up GPS," Ducky mused.

"Another visit to the toy store, then," Reilly said. "Are you sure there's no GPS in any of the toys we've already got you? Not even in your van?"

"Nope. I had it in the Ninjavan but it got fried. Don't ask," Ducky interrupted himself, rolling his eyes. "But we probably won't need it if Ed finds a better place than that ravine."

Al suggested, "We should keep that one as a last resort, then."

"Ed," Heist spoke again from behind him. "You're missing one. You keep panning past it."

"I've been looking for almost an hour, and I doubt it," he growled. If his hair weren't so long, he thought it might stand up. He wished she would quit peering over his shoulder. It was giving him the creeps. He preferred her to be where he could see her.

"No, really," she persisted. "You're missing a good one. See those three lines there, that look like they're getting closer to each other and then seem to disappear? They don't. The map colour just gets darker there because those are woods, and the lines just blend in with the darker coloring. But I'm sure they meet somewhere in there. Look, seriously--" She leaned even further over him, her arm resting on his shoulder as she pointed.

He jerked away. "Don't touch me!" he blurted automatically, and saw the familiar hurt flash into her eyes before she averted them and pulled back.

Ducky glared at him. "Dude, how about cutting the melodrama? Just zoom in and see if she's right. If not, you can keep looking." He glanced aside as a waitress zoomed past, both arms laden with plates. The aroma of sausages and eggs wafted heavily over the table.

Ed wanted to refuse, but he really couldn't afford to pass up any possibility. He blinked for a couple of seconds as someone at a table across the aisle raised the window blinds and sunlight reflected from the hood of a car pulling into a parking spot outside. Then he clicked a couple of times, reluctantly, on the spot Heist had pointed to. The map zoomed swiftly up toward him, the details getting clearer and clearer, and the map colouring getting lighter and lighter, as the program narrowed its focus to the smaller geographical area. When he finally paused, he sat and stared at the screen for a long time in silence.

"Brother," Al finally whispered, breathlessly, leaning a chin on his shoulder. "It looks good. Don't you think? Really good."

Ed stared at the conjunction of the three lines, their meeting point standing out sharp and clear now that the background color had diluted behind them. "Yeah, Al," he murmured, heart beginning to pound, "it really does, doesn't it?"

"You're welcome," Heist snarked from behind his other shoulder. He ignored her.

Al traced his finger lightly across the screen along one of the lines, following it off the North American continent, across the ocean, and into Europe where it finally came to an end point. He remarked, "Look, Ed. Do you see where it ends?"

Ed smiled and nodded absently. "Looks like it's not far from where we started out, back in Germany." When his brother leaned back with a knowing snicker, Ed's brows drew together as he peered sidelong at Al's face. Obviously he'd missed something about the location Al had pointed to, and the younger brother appeared smugly content to wait until the elder had figured it out. Unfortunately, despite how much he stared at that particular leyline, Ed couldn't make out what was so interesting about it. Finally, sighing with mild irritation, he gave in. "What?"

Al's snicker turned into a barely stifled giggle. "You know, as far as alchemy goes, no one can beat you, Brother. But there really is more to the world than that."

"The hell you say," Hughes teased.

Ed pointedly ignored the man and said to Al, "So? Are you going to make me play 20 questions, or are you just going to tell me?"

"Look at the longitude and latitude at the other end of the line. Don't you remember your geography?"

Ed stared at the map for a long moment, digging through his messy mental filing system, even though it seemed mulishly determined not to let him find the folder containing the piece of information he needed. Then at almost the moment he decided to give up and insist that Al just tell him already, a light over a long-forgotten cabinet went on and the file opened up. Gooseflesh popped out along his spine and left arm, and he couldn't get enough air as he tore his eyes from the screen and stared wide-eyed at Al. "Risembool," he whispered, almost afraid that if he said it aloud, it would scatter like dust motes in the sunlight streaming through the window.

The light in his younger brother's eyes brightened as he spoke the name, and Ed's grin widened irresistibly. "Risembool," he repeated, voice rising with his excitement. "We really are going home."

"Let's have a look," Reilly put in, motioning for Ed to show her the map. He turned the laptop around and she pulled it closer, leaning over her plate to see it. "You're right about the North American end," she nodded. "It looks better than 'very good', it looks perfect." She tilted the screen, first in Hughes' direction and then in Tom's.

"There's just one little flaw with that site," Tom said, adding some cream to his coffee and stirring slowly. "Can't you see that border along the left edge? It's on Indian land."

"Damn, you're right." Reilly's face fell. "That's a problem."

"What's the big deal with that?" Ed demanded, frowning.

"It may be a big deal and it may not, Ed, so don't get excited yet." Tom put up a hand to forestall an angry outburst.

"But it's probably going to take a lot of time, even if we do get in," Reilly murmured glumly, still peering at the screen. "The Council Elders would have to vote on it."

"Okay," Ed said, "so we'll dream up something to tell them, and then they can vote to let us in."

"Not so easy," Tom shook his head. "And you don't want to 'dream up' some elaborate lie to trick them into letting us do this. You don't disrespect them that way. We want to be as honest as we can. Which could involve a lot more explanation than we'll be comfortable with."

"And anyway," Riley put in, turning the laptop around and sliding it across the table back to Ed, "we won't even get that far unless we can find an advocate to represent us to them. That could take us a while." She shrugged helplessly at Tom. "How are we going to meet someone and get their trust so quickly? I don't see how we can do it."

"That 'last resort' is looking better and better, then," Hughes remarked ruefully, his laughter fading.

"So I keep looking, that's all," Ed answered, turning back to the laptop screen.

"Hey, listen," Heist injected. "Do you hear that?"

"What are you talking about, this place is full of noise!" Ed snarled, half turning and glaring at her over his shoulder, finally losing his patience. But suddenly he heard it too -- the faint strains of music, barely audible over the sounds of tinkling cutlery and quiet conversation. He met his brother's gaze, recognition sparking between them. "Al -- can you hear -- does that sound like--"

"It is!" The younger brother's eyes lit up. "It's a flute! Do you think -- could it really--" He turned his head back and forth, trying to locate the source, until his head abruptly snapped toward the large window across the aisle, along the row of tables at the front of the diner. He wriggled on the slippery booth seat and pushed unconsciously at Ducky with one hand. "He's out there -- we need to get out -- we need to see--"

Ducky scooted out and onto his feet, frowning in mystification. Al leaped out of the booth almost at a run, and headed for the door, with Ed racing after him.

They skidded to a halt in the parking lot, following the music to where Singer sat perched on a fender, a few cars down from the door, flute still held before his smiling lips and the ubiquitous duffel bag on the asphalt at his feet. He nodded to the two young men but said nothing, bending instead to play a few more notes, eyes half-closed and one long braid slipping over a shoulder.

"Well well," Hughes remarked, coming up behind the brothers and putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "Another visit from your mysterious friend, I see. What's he up to this time?"

"That's what we plan to find out," Ed said, his eyes never leaving the man on the fender. He hesitated, waiting for the music to finish, but then, "Hey, Singer!" he finally blurted, interrupting the tune. "Are you here for a particular reason?"

At last the man lowered the instrument, eyes crinkling slightly as he regarded his interrogator. "We're all here for a reason, Iron Butterfly," he nodded. "But I see you're not quite as impatient as usual. And Steppin' Wolf. Have you found your own music yet?"

"I-I'm not sure," Al breathed. "I think I'm getting close." One hand hovered, unconsciously, over the shirt pocket out of which almost half of his own flute jutted.

"Never mind that," Ed interrupted again. "What are you doing here?"

The man paused, regarding him in silence, the humor still glittering in his eyes. "Maybe I spoke too soon about patience." He lifted his instrument and regarded it briefly. "What am I doing here? I thought I was playing my flute. Did you hear differently, Butterfly?"

At Ed's frustrated snort, Hughes put in quickly, "You do seem to turn up at significant moments, though. It's natural that we'd be curious about why you came here right at this time."

"Just passing through," the other man shrugged, slipping off the fender. "I have some friends to visit."

"But...," Al ventured softly, brows drawing together, "...we're your friends too. Aren't we? Didn't you come to visit...us?"

Singer smiled gently. "Of course you are. But I have a meeting with some people." He jabbed his flute into his bag, zipped it shut, and slung it up and over one shoulder. Ed watched in disbelief as he turned and began to walk away. That was it? He'd drawn them out here with his music, and... that was it??

After only a few steps, though, Singer stopped, half-turned, and raised his eyebrows. "Well?" he asked. "The Council of Elders is waiting. Are you coming or not?"

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Risembool, Amestris**

"I wouldn't think you'd want to come back here," Pinako said as she set a tray on the table with a ceramic tea pot and a pair of matching cups. She placed a perforated silver ball in each cup and hung the chains over the sides, then poured boiling water into each.

As she slid one cup across the table to Roy, the water had begun to turn a delicate shade of amber and he caught a hint of a distinctive floral aroma as it rose up in the steam. "Darjeeling," he said with a smile.

"My favorite," Pinako nodded as she dropped a lump of sugar into her cup and let it dissolve without stirring it. "One of the few luxuries I indulge in regularly."

"Your taste is excellent."

"And you're beating around the bush, General Mustang," she said mildly. "Why are you here?"

Roy took a contemplative sip, enjoying the musky spiciness and allowing himself a moment to experience the naturally sweet and cooling aftertaste while he marshaled his thoughts. Setting the cup down, but keeping his hand on it, he stared at the play of light on the golden liquid. "I guess I needed to take a trip down memory lane," he answered lightly. When he glanced up and met her gaze, he saw her brow arch skeptically and knew he'd been caught. "You're not buying it, are you?"

She shook her head. "Frankly, I'm disappointed. That explanation certainly didn't live up to your reputation as the master beguiler," she said, the crinkle around her eyes softening the remark.

Roy winced and rubbed at his chin. "Those two years up north really did make me rusty," he mumbled good-naturedly. Then he sighed and turned the cup in his hand. "To be honest, Mrs. Rockbell, I'm not entirely sure why I came." And that much was truth. He'd thought he knew, when he'd purchased the ticket to this tiny village, and even up to the point when he'd taken the kilometers-long trek to the ruins of the house where the two boys had been born. But once he'd crested the hill and looked down at what remained of the Elrics' property, reason and logic returned.

It was a foolish adventure, and if he were to be found out, his shaky status in the military would be yanked out from under him. As he'd stood on that hill and stared down at the charred skeleton of the house nestled against the scarred tree that had, amazingly, avoided being completely consumed by the fire, he'd told himself to leave. Get back on that train and return to Central and forget that he'd ever come here. But his feet had refused to obey his commands, and his heart raced whenever he tried to turn away.

That was when Pinako had found him.

"First of all, let's drop the formalities," she said now, as she laid her pipe on the table and pulled a small drawstring bag from her apron pocket. "Call me Pinako. I haven't been Mrs. Anything since I was a young girl."

"Very well," Roy agreed with a slight nod, as he lifted the cup once more. "I'll offer the same courtesy. I'm not here representing the military this time; please call me Roy."

"Good." She tamped a pinch of tobacco into the bowl. "Now that we have that out of the way..." She paused to place the tip of her pipe between her teeth, then a slow, devious grin crawled across her face. "Those boys are trying to get back home, aren't they?"

Roy choked and sputtered on his tea as Pinako waited patiently. Once the spasms stopped and he could speak again, he said, "I wouldn't have any idea about that."

"Just like you didn't know you needed to be here eight years ago?"

"I came to investigate the whereabouts of Hohenheim of Light. Edward sent a letter, remember?"

"He sent several, as I recall," Pinako countered. "And that made it pretty obvious their father wasn't here. There was no logical reason for you to come to Risembool."

"On the contrary. I thought perhaps I might get a little more information that would help us find him. Perfectly logical, and well within the parameters of an investigation."

"Well, it was a good excuse, anyway. But if those boys were sending letters out all over the place looking for Hohenheim, it would seem to me that would mean they had no clues," she said as she took a box of matches from the same pocket the tobacco had come from.

"We had no idea if we'd intercepted all of the letters, Pinako," Roy said as he placed a hand over the box. "Allow me." As he took a match and struck it, he continued, "It was entirely possible one of them got to him and he'd returned for the funeral, at least."

"How long did you sit on it before you finally took the trip out here?"

Roy hesitated with the flame hovering inches from Pinako's pipe, attempting to read the old woman's face. He saw nothing that would reveal to him just where she was heading with this line of inquiry and couldn't help but wonder if she had played much poker in her younger days; she certainly could pull a convincing bluff. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

Pinako took the pipe from her mouth and laid it on the table with deliberate softness, then took a deep breath. "We're just going around in circles, Roy." She pinned him with an intense gaze and continued on. "Science can't explain everything, because some things just defy logic and reason. They just are. Perhaps some day we'll have all the answers, but for now..." She shrugged.

Roy chuckled. "There's an explanation for everything, Pinako. It's just a matter of digging deep enough to find it."

"Really? So tell me, how do you power an array? Where does the energy come from?"

"The circle contains and channels the energy, while the symbols and components of the alchemical reaction--"

"Bullshit. Define the soul, Roy. You should be able to do that, since you've had so much close contact with Al."

Roy gaped like a landed fish. The match, having been forgotten, burned down enough to singe his fingers. He hissed and shook the fire out, avoiding her stare. "I... I can't," he whispered, finally.

Pinako gazed down and idly turned her cup around in her hands. "What makes one man a great alchemist, while another goes on to become a pharmacist? They're both chemists." She focused on Roy, cocking her head to the side and smiling slightly. "Both professions require a thorough knowledge of the chemical makeup of anything they handle, both professions have essentially the same basic education. Yet at some point, with all things being equal, only a handful move on to become alchemists. It doesn't matter how brilliant someone is, there is a certain element that an alchemist must have in order to become what he is. What is it?"

Roy spread his hands. "I don't know. I suppose you do, though?"

Pinako shook her head. "Nope. But I have a theory."

"Formulated by careful observation and experience, no doubt?" Roy said, gently.

"Of course."

A heavy knock on the door interrupted them and Roy gave Pinako a mildly embarrassed smile. "My apologies," he said, as he stood. "I'm keeping you from your work."

She slid off the chair and waved him back. "I don't have any appointments the rest of the day. Relax." As she strode past, she stuck her pipe in her mouth and leaned in a bit. "And if I did, you would have already known about it. I'm not that polite."

With a soft chuckle, Roy settled back into his seat. Behind him, he heard Pinako turning the knob and the hinges squeaking as the door swung open. Assuming it was most likely a neighbor paying a social call, he returned to the delights of a truly good Darjeeling tea.

He'd brought the cup up to his lips, but was halted in mid-sip when she said, "I believe our visitors are here to see you, Roy."

He set it back on the table and twisted around, then felt the floor drop out from under him. _Dammit. Caught._

From the expressions on the three faces as they entered the house, Roy could guess who'd headed the search for their wayward general. Alex Louis Armstrong stood at the back of the small group with his hands clasped behind him, and his head down. The man looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, even though he didn't really have anything to feel guilty for. Jean Havoc studied the beams and cracks of the ceiling, scratching nervously at the back of his head and chewing vigorously on the end of an unlit cigarette. Clearly the man had been dragged along -- possibly at gunpoint -- but left mostly in the dark.

No, it was Roy's adjunct who'd led the charge. Riza Hawkeye coolly met his gaze, expressionless except for a single raised brow, and absolutely no apology in her demeanor.

"Captain," Roy greeted her.

"General."

Roy waited a moment, unwilling to blink first, expecting her to explain herself. Riza, of course, did the exact same thing. In the meantime, Armstrong and Havoc fidgeted and Pinako-- Roy cocked a brow at the old woman, who watched the scene with quiet amusement, then sagged. He'd never won a standoff against Riza... ever, and he had a strong suspicion that he was going to be out-gunned if Pinako sided with her. Therefore, it was time for a tactical retreat, because the outcome would not be in his favor if he persisted in the current stand-off. Not even a little bit. "Hawkeye, why are you here?"

"You took a vacation."

"The horror!" Roy teased. "Imagine that. An officer taking a vacation."

"You never take vacations. Sir," she said as she strode into the room and stood at formal parade rest on the opposite side of the table. Armstrong and Havoc stepped further into the room, but remained hovering near the door.

"Then I guess it's about time, don't you think?" Roy said as he raised his cup and took a sip of his tea.

"But... Risembool?"

Roy spread his arms wide to encompass the entire area and said, "Why not? It's certainly quiet and peaceful here. Seems a good place to relax and recharge."

Naturally she didn't believe him.

It didn't help any that Pinako started to chuckle softly. "Your people know you too well, Roy," she said as she closed the door and waved the other two soldiers toward the table.

"It would appear so," he retorted wryly.

"General," Armstrong said, "we're merely concerned for your well-being."

"You have been acting a bit flaky lately," Havoc chimed in, and then flinched when Riza glared at him.

Pinako picked up the pot and headed for the kitchen. "Looks like I need more tea," she said, "and I'll see what I can scare up to eat." She paused at the entry and glanced back at Roy. "I think you're going to need a little help for what you're thinking of doing." She nodded at the three others in the room. "There's nothing wrong with asking for it."

Riza slowly sat down in the chair Pinako had vacated just a moment ago, her features softening to concern and a little bit of hurt. "General--" she said softly, then corrected herself and took Roy completely by surprise, "--Roy, what's going on? Why did you come here?"

He gazed down at the cup nestled in his hands, guilt shooting painfully through him as he realized he'd kept them in the dark for too long. "Forgive me," he said gently. "It was unfair of me to keep this from you. From the people I trust the most." He met each friend's eyes in turn, settling on Riza last and longest. "I wasn't sure I could explain just what had been happening lately. I'm still not certain I can." His lips twitched in a nervous smile. "And you'll probably think I've gone completely around the bend when I tell you this..."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Central Oklahoma**

Ducky knew he should be paying attention to the discussion, but every time he tried to concentrate, he got distracted again. From outside, this place had merely looked like a really big garage, with two huge rolling doors that could accommodate trucks if necessary. But once Singer had talked to the Elder and they'd been allowed inside, Ducky had discovered the building, instead, to be a total wonderland.

The Elder, Singer, and Ed sat on the only chairs, in the wedge of space in front of the old wooden cupboards and wall shelves occupying both walls of one corner of the vast room. Al stood behind his brother, hands on Ed's shoulders, and Tom, Reilly, and Hughes leaned back against a cupboard, listening to Singer and the Elder talk. Heist and Ducky had plopped themselves down on a big metal storage locker, and as his eyes had wandered over the rest of the room, she had given him a nudge in the ribs with a sharp elbow, flashing a knowing smirk.

She had good reason. He could hardly keep his gaze off the welding equipment, metal sculptures, and piles of scrap metal that filled this place. Singer hadn't told them that the man was an artist, but his creations, pieces finished and half-finished, surrounded the visitors. The welding equipment was situated in the opposite corner, while sculptures in various states of completion stood like a forest of vast, misshapen trees throughout the rest of the space. Along the walls stood the stacks of scrap: rolls of cable, pails of tin cans, half-rusted car parts, sheets of metal that might have been taken from heating ducts.

"...and this sacred ground is the only place where this Gate can be found?" Ducky half-heard the Elder ask.

For once, Ed spoke quietly and with respect. "No, sir," he answered honestly. "We can get to a Gate from other places. But they're much harder to get to, and as far as we can tell, none of them are as powerful as the one in this place."

Good answer, Ducky thought, his attention wandering again. Look at all this stuff! He'd never been the sort to try metal sculpture, but he could think of a million other things to do with chunks of this treasure--

In fact... now that he thought of it...

His gaze sharpened as it swept over the piles of scrap with a new eye. There was something he'd been wishing he could do... he wondered if the Elder would be willing to part with a little bit of his material?

"Before any portal is opened," the man said, drawing his attention back, "there must be a sweat."

"A what?" Ed repeated in bewilderment.

"A ceremony of purification," Singer supplied.

Yes, Ducky thought, if he asked the man nicely, he might just be willing to spare a few small sheets of something, and maybe even give a little welding help. It might just save the computers if they ran into trouble--

"What?" Ed yelled, leaping to his feet.

Uh oh, thought Ducky. There he goes. No chance now. Wonder what the problem is...

"Brother, it'll be okay," Al was already trying to smooth things over.

"Are you serious?" Ed blurted. "Are you going to do it -- sit with a bunch of strangers in a hot room all night, _with no clothes on??_"

Ducky gaped. Ohh, he thought. That kind of "sweat."

They'd have to do it, of course: Hughes, Ed, and Al, participating in the sweat lodge to be purified before they took their journey to the other world. If they wanted to get home, they had no choice. This was going to be good! Ducky couldn't wait to see this--

Or no. That was something he really didn't want to see, and he was so glad he wouldn't have to do it too. But Ed -- _Ed!_

Ducky buried his face in his hands and laughed till he thought he'd choke.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**Risembool, Amestris**

"...If we're caught, it'll be the end of our careers," Roy finished. "And this time we don't have the excuse of a conspiracy to back us up. This is not going to benefit our country -- it's not 'for the greater good'. This is personal and selfish. I want to bring those boys back home." He waited then. He'd just given them a reason and permission to back out -- especially in light of the risks. Either they'd drag him back to Central at gunpoint and have him committed, or they'd believe him -- and help.

He wasn't really sure which he'd prefer, either.

"I will, of course, assist you in any way possible, general," Armstrong assured him.

"He'll need it," Pinako said as she returned from the kitchen with a fresh pot of hot water, three more cups and a piled-high plate of sandwiches.

Right on cue, Roy thought with a smirk. He had little doubt that she'd listened in, even if she was giving them the impression of privacy. At least she didn't think he'd lost his mind; neither, apparently, did Armstrong. The question now was, what did Hawkeye and Havoc think?

"Riza," Roy said softly, as he placed a hand over hers. "I'll understand if you don't want any part of this." He left the question unspoken.

"Do you even need to ask?"

It was an old exchange. From the moment he realized he was headed to the top after Maes' murder, and several times after that. He didn't need to ask, but out of respect, he always did. This time, though... "Yes."

Riza nodded and said, "My place is at your back and by your side, general. It always has been."

There was no hesitation, no second thoughts, as Havoc rolled his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other and grinned. "Hell, it's been too long since I was part of a covert operation." He twitched exaggeratedly. "I'm gettin' itchy."

As Pinako refilled Roy's cup, she cast him an _'I-told-you-so'_ glance.

"Which reminds me," Roy said, turning from Pinako to Armstrong, "how far did you get before she caught you, Alex?"

"The train station, sir."

"Risembool?"

Armstrong hung his head in shame. "Central."

Roy chortled deviously into his cup as he made a 'gimme' gesture with his free hand. With a wistful sigh, the gentle giant dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cens notes, then counted out several and handed them over to Roy. As the general folded his winnings, he said, "Your stealth technique might've been passed down through several generations, Alex, but I'll gather none of your ancestors ever had to elude a Hawkeye."

At Hawkeye's heated glare, Roy cocked a brow and spread his hands. "You didn't think I would be clearing that cellar myself, did you?" He was making light of the situation, but deep down, he knew he'd have hell to pay for this when it was all over with. He just hoped that he was left with his hide _mostly_ intact.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**August 19, 2006**

**Central Oklahoma**

Ed stared at the small round hovel that had been erected for the ritual. Long sticks had been lashed together in a circle about three meters wide, and the entire structure had been covered in wide strips of bark and leafy branches. The height was about level with his chin, but he could see through the slitted opening that the earth inside had been dug out. In front of the opening, the lodge's creators had made a tapering cut in the ground, leading to a short post with the skull of some sort of animal mounted upon it. At its base was a collection of grasses and a few feathers, circled by a strip of different colored sand on each of the four sides. Just before the skull, a sweet smelling fire burned, guarded by two fire keepers. Ed had already been instructed that he wasn't to pass beyond the skull once the sweat had commenced. It wasn't so much a spiritual warning as it was a physical one. And it made sense. Emerging from the heated lodge, it wasn't uncommon to feel light-headed and disoriented. The last thing anyone needed was to stumble into the fire.

Brushing a hand over his stomach, Ed scowled. Late last night, they'd been informed that they weren't allowed to eat anything, in preparation for the sweat. The others took the news easily enough, but by now, his gut was cramping angrily -- and it reflected on his mood. Needless to say, he hadn't been a source of sweetness around the campsite. Nor did Reilly's cryptic comments about "hypo-gli-see-mia" help at all... whatever that was anyhow. Behind him, the sun was starting to go down, casting a soft red glow over the landscape. The Elders had gathered together a short distance away, speaking softly to the other members of the group. But as Ed approached, they broke apart. A glance at Hughes' face sent alarms blaring in his brain. "What... what's going on?"

Al fidgeted nearby, not meeting his eyes, and Reilly looked downright stricken. However, it was Singer who approached him, expression neutral and arms folded as he spoke. "The partaking of a sweat is a sacred event. There must be no impurities if you are to enter. This is why you were asked to fast beforehand. It is also why we are asking Maes to leave his glasses outside, as everyone else to leave their watches and other jewelry." He paused, looking pointedly, first at Ed's right arm... and then at his opposite leg. Suddenly grasping what what he was being told, Ed's mouth dropped open. He'd been aware of the no clothing issue... but this!?

He shook his head, unaware that he'd taken a step back. "No..."

Singer remained where he was, a light breeze stirring the hair resting on his shoulders. "It must be, Iron Butterfly." And then he turned, retreating to the shadows.

"Ed..."

He jerked away from Al's reaching fingers, then stalked in the other direction, his brain steaming. "Sure, easy enough to take your glasses off! Bet they'd say different if it felt like they were tearing their eyes out!" He stumbled over a branch and cursed through clenched teeth. Finally, coming to a rest near a thick oak tree, he pressed his hands against the mossy bark. It was much darker here than in the clearing, and he felt enveloped by the shadows of the surrounding woods. It didn't last long though. Already, he could hear the sounds of snapping twigs and the rough scratch of branches dragging over fabric. Turning around, he fully expected to see either Reilly or his brother stomping after him. But in shock, he saw instead the black-headed form of Ducky pushing awkwardly through the foliage. And boy, did he look out of his element.

Brushing flakes of bark from his sleeves, Ducky peered at him through the straggles of hair in his eyes. He shifted back and forth a little, shoving one hand into his pocket, the other rising to scratch at the crown of his head. A scattered breeze knocked several leaves free, sending them spiraling down to land among the rest of the litter.

Finally, when Ed was really starting to grind his teeth in irritation, Ducky spoke. "Dude, that really sucks."

Blinking once, Ed furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Surprised to find himself smiling a little, he shrugged. "Yeah, it really does." He said, pressing his back against the oak's rugged skin. They stood like that for a while, sharing the silence as night deepened around them. After a while, Ducky started shifting again.

"You know... this whole business... it's..."

Ed nodded, then realized that the other man probably couldn't see the motion through the shadows. "Yeah. Well... you kinda get used to it after a while."

More silence, and the occasional sound of something flying overhead. Small creatures scurried through the leaves, the darting patter of their tiny feet breaking up the quiet. Finally, Ed sighed and pushed away from the tree. He knew there was no other way. If he'd learned anything from the past; no amount of tantrum throwing made a difference in the long run. And truthfully, there just wasn't time to accommodate his emotions. "Come on. We should get back."

Ducky didn't speak as they fumbled back towards the sweat lodge. Just before reaching the fire's glow, the two men parted company -- Ducky retreating to the van where those not required to take part in the ritual were hanging out. By this time, the large collection of smooth rocks had been heated by the fire and placed within the lodge. The Elders, having stripped down, were slowly making their way through the slit in the mound.

Finally, the only ones who remained were Ed himself, Hughes, his brother, and Singer.

Without a word, Ed pulled his shirt over his head. The metal of his arm reflected warmly in the jumping flames, its smooth surface appearing almost liquid. And not for the first time, he felt a rush of admiration for its creator. His hand rose up to touch the ridges near his shoulder, his fingertips just inches away from the release trigger. Removing it wasn't anywhere near as bad as reconnecting... but it would still hurt. Dropping his hand again, he suddenly peered at the small circle of eyes. "Do you mind?"

With a round of apologies, the others walked a small distance away to give him some temporary privacy. Even moderately alone, his cheeks were still heated as he slid off his pants. It took a second longer to shed his boxers, and he'd never been more grateful to see the darkness of the closing night. By now, the only illumination was from the fire. Not looking forward to the impending crab-like scrambling, Ed walked back towards the circle, his clothes held in front of him. Looking around, he saw the other three emerge from the dark, now devoid of their own clothing. It didn't help him one bit. If anything, it made his face burn even brighter. Swallowing thickly, he slid down next to the lodge.

Al knelt as well, placing a small hand on Ed's left shoulder. "Let me help, Brother."

The leg was the most awkward to remove, the release positioned on the underside of the joint. Leaning his head back, Ed squeezed his eyes shut as Al placed both hands on the metal, leaning down to feel for the trigger. The was a second of nothing, and then he grunted as the leg released with a metallic clunk. Breathing deeply, he rubbed his left hand over the exposed port, suddenly frowning as a thought occurred to him. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Singer with confusion. "Hey, if my arm and leg are considered impure... how do they feel about the connecting ports? I can't exactly remove them..."

Singer dipped his head. "As these are considered a part of your flesh, the Elders have made a concession."

Ed mumbled as he massaged his thigh. "Of course my 'limbs' aren't considered a part of me... not like I use them for anything..."

Al had scooted around to his other side, having placed the leg on the folded pile of Ed's clothes. He was reaching for the right arm when Ed stopped him. "It's okay Al, I got it." Placing his hand over the trigger he braced himself, breath held tightly, and pressed.

He could feel the cords in his neck jump at this second disconnect. For whatever reason, his arm always hurt more to remove than his leg. Possibly because of the extensive involvement of flesh and bone... He did, though, manage to keep his vocalizations to a minimum. Holding out the arm for Al to take, he used his remaining hand to push his suddenly lighter body upright. Once his right arm was nestled alongside his leg, he reached up his free arm, meaning to grip the edge of the lodge. Instead, he felt another arm slip beneath his, and glanced over to see Hughes smiling at him.

"You know me Ed, I'll take any opportunity to hug someone."

He grumbled something about perverted touchy-feely types, but inside was grateful he wasn't being forced to crawl. It was humiliating enough that he had to hop. Naked. Next to another naked person. Towards a lodge filled with even more naked people.

All that was missing was the camera.

Thank goodness Hughes was currently lacking pockets...

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**August 20, 2006**

**Central Oklahoma**

It wasn't a large clearing, Heist mused, but there was room enough to draw the big circle Ed seemed to think he needed to make the jump to hyperspace, or wherever it was he was going. Whether he really needed the circle or not had been the subject of much discussion between him and Singer, ever since the "sweaters" (as the Ducklord called them) had crawled out of their steaming hut, exhausted, disoriented, and ravenous.

Ed had hardly said a word to anyone until he'd downed what appeared to be a vat of scrambled eggs and half a pot of coffee. Al was a bit more cheerful, even though the dark smudges under his eyes were bigger than his brother's. Hughes, on the other hand, was positively manic during breakfast, almost rivaling Ducky on his wilder days. He bounced around their camp, chattering like an idiot, a couple of slices of toast in one hand and a precarious cup of coffee spilling in the other. Even now, breakfast finished, he grinned like a maniac, jiggling up and down on his toes, nearer to the edge of the circle.

Heist smirked at Ducky, standing hands in pockets beside her, at the edge of the clearing . "You can sure tell _someone's_ going home today."

"Yeah, I guess," he nodded, uncharacteristically subdued.

She peered into his glum face, and followed his gaze to where Ed had almost finished his careful construction of the circle. "Ducky," she murmured in surprise, "you're really going to miss them, aren't you?"

"No," he retorted. "They've been nothing but trouble since they got here. It'll be good to get back to a normal life." When she slowly turned back to him, regarding him under pointedly raised eyebrows, he snorted. "Shut up." As she continued with the knowing look, he rolled his eyes and left, walking closer to where Ed was working. Heist stayed back, out of Ed's sightline. Out of sight of most of them, actually, as they lined up around the edge of the circle like some kind of paying audience.

Ed, meanwhile, was putting the finishing touches on his drawing, as Singer stood by the edge and teased him. "Butterfly," the older man said, arms casually crossed, "you're making needless work for yourself."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Ed muttered. "And I'm doing what's necessary. You have to get a transmutation circle exactly right, for something this complicated--"

"You don't need the circle at all," Singer told him. "You have all you need already."

"And you're the alchemy expert now, I see. Maybe in the other world, I could clap my hands and do this, but I probably wouldn't risk it for something this important. In this world, though, I need to draw the circle for something like this."

"You have all you need without it," Singer repeated, crouching at the edge of the circle, elbows on his knees and hands hanging between them. "You and young Steppin' Wolf." He watched the young man work, a fond smile touching his lips.

Heist also smiled silently at the exchange. She wasn't as sure as Ducky that they'd find a normal life again, after the three guys from the other world were gone. But even though they pretty much hated her now, she contemplated their departure with gloom. Somehow they'd grown on her, despite everything. And apart from the little matter of having to run for their lives, they'd given her a glimpse of a wilder, more amazing life than either she or Ducky had ever imagined before. And Ed was a _genius_! He'd picked up more understanding of computers and programming, in just a few weeks, than most people would learn in years. Give him another month, and he might even rival Ducky -- or her! -- in his proficiency.

She grinned to herself. Couldn't have that, could we? Maybe it was a good thing Ed was leaving, or she could lose her status as Hacker Goddess.

So lost in thought was she, that even the cracking of the branch behind her didn't clue her in, until the arm was wrapped around her throat and the soft, too, too familiar voice was murmuring in her ear, "Just hold still and be quiet, and we can get this finished quickly, all right?"

But Heist couldn't prevent the squawking gasp of fear as Bond's arm pressed against her windpipe. As she convulsively clutched at the restrictive arm, she saw Ducky glance absently back, then watched the horror explode into his face.

_"HEIST!"_ he screamed, lunging toward her.

"Stay back!" Bond ordered sharply, and she felt something sharp press against her throat as Ducky skidded to a halt, face twisted in anguish. Heist's knees wobbled and threatened to give out under her, and she fought to keep standing, to keep herself from being choked. The others had noticed by now, and even Ed had leapt to his feet. But no one dared make a move. "That's right," Bond said. "Everyone behave, and nobody will get hurt. Well... almost nobody."

"What do you want, Bond?" Hughes demanded. "Let the girl go, and we'll talk."

"I'm not entirely stupid, Hughes," Bond sneered. "And you of all people should know better than to expect me to let her go now."

Hughes' face tightened, and Ducky gasped. "Please!" he cried. "Whatever you want -- take me! Let her go! _Please!_"

_Oh Ducks._ Heist blinked away the sudden sting of tears.

"No can do." His breath would have tickled her ear, if her nerves hadn't been screaming tight with the tension and fear. "She's my ticket home," Bond almost crooned. "Isn't she, Fullmetal?"

Heist's frantic eyes flew to Ed's face in time to see it stiffen in anger and revulsion. "No," he said flatly. "Not a chance. Not that way."

"Come now," Bond cajoled almost pleasantly. "It's not like you care to save her, and we both know it. She's a traitor. She's expendable. And we know you need a death, to open the Gate home. I'd bet you've been planning to use her all along."

Heist gasped and the arm tightened around her neck for a moment, until her vision swam. As it cleared, she watched Ducky whirl to gape at Ed, a horrified question in his eyes, and heard Ed snap, "Don't be stupid."

But it didn't matter, did it? Sidney -- Bond -- was going to kill her, and even if Ed hadn't planned it, it would give him what he needed. _They hate me_. He and the others would get home for sure. _They'll never pass up a chance like this!_ She was dead, she was dead. Her trembling hands tugged mindlessly at the arm that held her, as her body shook in Bond's deadly embrace.

"If you let her go, Stealthworks," growled Maes Hughes, eyes narrowed in a deadly, ice-green glare that Heist could never have imagined seeing on his kind, friendly face, "you might survive this. If not -- you're a dead man. That's a promise."

Silently, Tom took a stance next to Hughes, body facing him, but his right arm straight out and the gun in his hand aimed at the only part of Bond not shielded by Heist: his head. The older man's thumb pulled the hammer back with a resounding _click_ that seemed to echo through the woods as he wordlessly made the same vow.

Heist could almost feel Bond's grin widen, gaping behind her ear. "Spoken like a man neutered by principle. You don't really want to get home to that wife and little girl, do you, Hughes? If you did, you'd be leaping at this chance. You'd rather enjoy the more convenient charms of your girlfriend on this side of the Gate, wouldn't you?" His arm shifted, loosening from around Heist's throat, but she could feel the rest of his body tense up. Something was coming.

"You bastard!" Hughes hissed.

"There's another way, Bond," Ed urged, coming out to the edge of his circle, to stand beside his brother. "We can do this without hurting anybody. Let her go."

"Don't make me laugh. As if I'd fall for such a convenient, obvious lie. Not a chance, Fullmetal," Bond said, his arm shifting again, the hand pulling back toward Heist's shoulder, the blade in the other hand moving as well, toward the other side of her neck.

_Oh my god! He's going to slit my throat!_

She lunged away, panic injecting the adrenaline, but the last vestiges of her rational mind choosing the safest direction: sideways, away from the knife. She was quick, and almost made it, but Bond was quicker. He caught her by the wrist with one hand, and yanked her partway back.

"Not before time, sweetheart," he smiled narrowly, and raised the other, knife-wielding hand.

She screamed as it slashed down her forearm, and the old suicide joke dashed insanely through her thoughts, _Across the street to the hospital, down the highway to the morgue_. She saw her own blood shower in a wide arc as Bond dragged her a few feet, then shoved her violently forward. Through a haze of pain and dripping red, she saw herself falling toward the circle Ed had created, as her knees finally gave out.

"_Keep her outside!_" someone screamed -- Ed? Al? She could hardly tell, with everyone else shrieking and yelling.

But they were suddenly both there -- Ed and Al -- one grabbing her around the waist and the other clutching her free hand, trying to pull her away before she could touch the circle. Bond refused to relinquish his grip on the wounded arm -- oh god, it hurt, it _hurt_, she was bleeding to death, she was _dying!_ -- and kept trying to drag her across the edge with him.

Heist felt like she was being torn apart. The pain seemed to permeate her whole body, the blood was everywhere, and she could hear Ducky screaming. _I'm dying, Ducks! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry for everything!_ Jerked backward and forward, the breath slammed out of her and pain shooting through her arm with every jerk, she saw only snatched bursts of images -- Reilly with her fists to her mouth -- Hughes darting forward as Al yelled, _"Stay out of the circle, Maes!!" _-- the swift whipping of Ed's ponytail--

-- then one rapid glimpse of Singer's face behind her tormentor as he grabbed Bond's shoulder and yanked him back. Bond's gripping hand flew open in reflex, and Heist fell backwards, in a tangle of arms and legs, falling on top of Al, with Ed rolling just in time to avoid landing on her. She moaned in pain, her whole side on fire. Ed was instantly beside her again, kneeling, helping to lift her as his brother got out from under her. Then he leaned her gently back, into Al's arms as the younger brother sat, splayed so he could hold her against his chest.

Ed's metal hand tightened, painfully, around her arm just below the elbow, while he pressed his other hand directly over the bloody slash. As Heist yelped, twisting reflexively, trying to pull her arm away, he yelled, "Somebody get help! Doctor, bandages, whatever! _And stay out of that circle!_" A gentle hand stroked her hair from behind, pulling it out of her face, as she began to shiver uncontrollably. "It's okay, you're all right now," Al murmured. "Just hold on till we fix this..."

She was going to faint. _They saved me._ She thought the pain would keep her awake, but she could feel herself slipping away. _They didn't let him kill me._ She saw Ducky leaning over her and the brothers, tears of fear streaming down his face. _Ducks, you're giving away a weakness, you know._ Reilly was rushing over, grabbing Hughes' shirt as he tore it off, the two of them already ripping it into strips. _They're not going to let me bleed to death...and __**god**__, does Hughes have muscles..._

The last thing she saw, as her head lolled sideways and the curtain came down, was Bond and Singer, in the middle of the circle, each facing the other in a battle-ready crouch.

o0o0o

The larger man before him had strength in his favor, as well as the fury to fuel his attack. He fought with the manner of one who was practiced in stealth and cunning -- but who had long since stopped hearing the voice of the earth. Still, he must have been able to read something of his opponent's skills -- for he tucked the knife, more hindrance now than help, into his belt, and splayed his fingers in mimicry of his enemy.

They circled around the tattooed ground, each studying the other, waiting for that one clear opening. In an ancient cedar beyond the edge of the clearing, Raven watched them, beady black eyes fixed, feathered head tilted. The creature would not interfere. In fact, Singer doubted it would even cross the lines carved into the dirt beneath his shoes. There was Power here, radiating up through the soles of his feet and along the paths of his veins. It carried like a hum through the air -- vibrating electrically. If he could feel it this strongly, he knew his companion would be nearly overcome by the sensations.

The soulless man was smiling at him, an expression that tugged his sallow skin into a vile parody of human emotion. He watched, knowing Bond would break soon. His muscles had slowly been tensing for this moment... and as though aware of that thought, Bond lunged, locking his fingers around Singer's arm.

Singer allowed the contact, loosening his body to curl to the side. Then, bracing his legs, he suddenly twisted his shoulders, sending his opponent rolling to the ground. The force of the landing jarred the knife from his belt and it skated toward the edge of the circle –- out of Bond's current reach. However, the move wasn't without loss; for barely had Bond landed before his arm lashed back and recaptured Singer by the wrist, yanking the lighter man off his feet. They both moved quickly, Bond in a half-lunge, and Singer with an elegant backflip. Not giving the other man a chance to keep his footing, Singer leaped again, springboarding off Bond's chest with a violent kick towards the face. His foot grazed his opponent's nose as Bond jerked back, then lurched into a roll.

Singer hit the ground loosely, bending his knees as he prepared to lunge forward again, only to rock backward as his enemy crashed into his chest. He struck the ground hard, his back screaming where it collided with a pointed rock. Instantly, he pulled his hands before him and dug long fingers into the channels of Bond's throat. Tearing away, coughing, Bond wrapped one hand around his abused flesh while the other braced on his knee. In that second's reprieve, Singer gained his feet, resisting the desire to massage the throbbing ache above his kidneys.

In the silence of the moment, a pale exhalation of warm wind skipped through the circle, lifting the dampened hair from Singer's brow. On the periphery, the watching eyes of the traveling friends stared in silence. He remained acutely aware of the rapid breathing of Iron Butterfly and Steppin' Wolf as they wrestled against their desire to join the battle, to tend instead to the terrified shadow called Heist. Hovering close them, the ones called Ducky and Reilly emitted streams of layered fear, while the two men -- the Father and Hughes -- paced along the edge of the circle, their kinetic energy fairly snapping around them in unspent anxiety.

The branches of the cedar clipped together lightly, and from its heart, Singer heard a sound like a deep crack. Perched on a thick bough, Raven gave a single, piercing cry. He heard the message in its poignant croak, and let his arms fall smoothly to his sides.

In that second, the other man charged.

Singer tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut as he listened to the pulse around him. He felt the pressure of Bond closing on him -- a malevolent heat radiating from his aura like a poisoned cloud. The pounding steps thumped on the yellowed earth, the light breeze that had been cooling him faded and died. Holding his arms at his side... he waited.

A moment before Bond reached him, Singer spun to the side. His hand lashed out, burying itself in the soft flesh of Bond's armpit. The other man made a startled sound of pain as Singer dug in his nails. With the other hand held flat like a blade, he slammed it into the concavity beneath Bond's sternum. The man grunted, instantly wrapping a crushing fist around Singer's wrist. The other arm was dead at his side, and Singer knew it would take some time for the feeling to return. He was just starting to withdraw his hand from beneath the other man's arm when Bond's grip on his wrist tightened even more. Looking up sharply, he found himself eye to eye with Bond, the other's ragged face runneled with sweat and grinning fiercely.

"That," hissed the alchemist, "was a definite no-no."

Savagely, Bond suddenly twisted the wrist in his grip, and Singer barked out a cry at the muffled snap. Pushing forward roughly, Bond sent him sprawling, and his aching back tightened at the impact with the baked earth. A heavy foot descended towards his chest, but Singer was just able to roll away. From the periphery, he sensed Tom and Hughes starting towards him. The emergency with young Heist was passing. He could not risk the others' involvement. He could not let that be. A look to the side, meeting the young, frightened eyes staring back at him. Steppin' Wolf. "Sing well my friend," he said softly.

The hazel eyes widened slightly, but before the boy could react, Singer forced himself to his feet.

It was time to end this.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**August 20, 1919**

**Risembool, Amestris**

Roy stood on the grass, a casual hand thrust into a pocket as he, Hawkeye, and Havoc watched Armstrong's prodigious display of strength below them. The large man had had no trouble clearing the cellar beneath the burned-out house, heaving entire beams aside as though they weighed nothing at all. His three fellow officers stood just far enough from the edge of the caved-in hole to avoid flying debris, wincing occasionally at a louder than usual crack as mortared clumps of bricks smashed into chunks of plastered wall and smashed them to bits. In between the crashing and scraping sounds from below, a soft breeze set the tall grass whispering around them.

"Wouldn't want to get in the way of that," Havoc remarked as what seemed like half the fallen floor was shoved aside at once.

"Which is why we're up here and he's down there," Roy replied absently. "At least for the moment."

"You're sure you can get through from here?" Hawkeye wondered.

"Not at all," came the calm reply. "But I have to try. I'm sure, at least, that this is one of the places where there's a portal. So that gives me some hope." He kept his hands clenched into fists, hoping to conceal his nerves. It had been years since he'd faced a task with such butterflies in his stomach. It didn't help that he'd been in Risembool before, just after the portal on this spot had been breached, and had seen the end results: a suffering boy with two limbs missing, and another boy with no body at all, just a soul tacked to a suit of armor. Roy swallowed with dry throat, and murmured, "Just be sure you stay away from the array once it's drawn, Riza. No matter what happens."

In only a few moments more, the big man in the cellar had cleared away enough space to stand in and, even more important, space in which to draw a sizable array. He stood in the center, dark uniform blanketed by a light film of dust, and glanced questioningly upward. Despite his considerable exertions, he hadn't even worked up a sweat. Roy responded to his unspoken query with a curt nod. "One moment, General," Armstrong cautioned. "Let me make a safe way down." He began to shift one of the former floor beams toward the edge of the hole, as though to create a makeshift ladder.

But Roy had already hopped lightly down to the open space, landing in a crouch before straightening. "No need for that," he said tersely. "Let's just get on with this." He heard the heavy thud of Havoc jumping down behind him, and mere seconds later, Hawkeye's lighter landing. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned at them, "I'd prefer that the two of you stay up there, on solid ground."

"Sorry, sir," Hawkeye replied flatly. "We're staying down here, in case something goes wrong."

He knew he wouldn't win if he tried to argue this one, and he'd already lost enough arguments with these two, lately. Pursing his lips, he repeated reluctantly, "Be sure to stay away from the circle, then. In fact, stand as far back as you can. There's nothing you can do if the alchemy goes wrong, but Armstrong might need your help afterward." He stared both Hawkeye and Havoc in the face, hard, until they had backed away almost to the wall. Only then did he move further into the center.

Armstrong shifted a final black, jagged hunk of fallen floor, propping it against a wall, and retreated in order to allow his superior more room to work. Roy pulled a stick of chalk and a sheet of paper from his pocket and, bending, began to draw, constantly comparing the chalk drawing with its rough counterpart on the paper.

He wasn't comfortable with some of the guesswork involved in this array, but the design was the best he could do after all his research. If it blew up on him, at least Armstrong was here to try to mitigate some of the effects and protect Hawkeye and Havoc. He didn't think anything would go really wrong, but you never knew, the first time you tried something. At least, he mused, he was more experienced than Ed and Al had been the first time they had tried something so complicated. He walked around and completed the outer circle first, then went to one knee as he sketched the inner details of the array. He marveled at the steadiness of his hand.

But for the merest second he hesitated, as an image flashed into his mind: Edward Elric, clapping his hands together and pressing them onto the floor, without even the need to draw a laborious array. It would be nice to do this so easily, but Roy had to be content with drawing the circle the old fashioned way.

After a final comparison of his chalk design with the array on the paper, Roy absently stuffed paper and chalk back into a pocket. He cast Havoc and Hawkeye a final warning glance, then checked with Armstrong, who nodded reassurance. Both alchemists were as ready as they could be for whatever transpired...

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

As Singer gathered his feet beneath him again, Maes tripped the release in his right sleeve and felt the knife drop into his hand. Skirting the array, he sought for an opening, cursing the fact that Singer and Bond were moving so quickly. As they struggled together, shifting back and forth and around and around, there was no way he could hit Bond without endangering the other man. Suddenly Bond dropped to one knee at the edge of the circle, his one still-functioning hand scooping up the all-but-forgotten blade. Grimacing in irritation as he seemingly lost patience for the game, he whirled back to face Singer. The sun flashed on metal as, in one smooth motion, he thrust it into the man's chest with such force that Singer was lifted from his feet.

"Your blood will do nicely, as well," Bond purred as he twisted the knife and shoved it deeper with a wet sound of gristle tearing and bone cracking.

Singer was dead before he slid off the knife, collapsing backwards to land on his back in the middle of the array. With a tooth-clenched grin, Bond gave his body a couple of vicious kicks until it rolled over, arms flopping. Blood spattered all over the array, and began to collect in a pool under Singer's chest...

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

...Remaining on one knee, Roy lifted his hands. But hesitated again as he felt the ground begin to shake beneath him.

"What the...?" Havoc glanced around uneasily as clods of dirt and rotted vegetation shook loose from the edge of the hole and dropped to the floor, bouncing a little as they shook apart. "General, are you doing that?"

"It's the other side," Roy whispered, pulse beginning to pound. "Something's coming from the other side." _It's you, isn't it? Well, I'm ready at this end!_

Hawkeye jerked forward. "General -- Roy -- wait!"

He slammed his hands onto the ground, in the center of the array, and the power roused instantly. It seemed to flash and spark through the lines of the circle, up his arms, and through his body, bolting through him like light, like flame. His startled gaze flew to Armstrong's face, as the man moved to the outer edge of the circle, stiffly at alert.

"General -- be careful!" the man blurted.

And then the white light flared brilliantly, and every distraction burned out of Roy's mind...

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

...Reilly screamed, and both Ed and Al leaped forward, Heist momentarily forgotten, into the midst of the red glow that suddenly sprang up from the line of the array.

"Wait!" Maes shouted, swallowing his horror. "Stay back -- I can't get a clear shot -- wait -- _wait!!_ "

But it was too late to stop them. They lurched back and forth, one brother on each arm as Bond flailed around, trying to shake them off. Ducky screamed, _"ED!"_ and tried to rush the fighting group, but Maes yelled, "Keep back!" and flung out an arm to hold him back. Tom already had hold of one of the young man's arms, and jerked him sharply backwards, ponytail flopping, away from the edge of the flaring circle.

Bond's dripping knife still waved wildly in one hand, and for a split second it tilted back enough to carve a thin line of blood across Al's upper arm. As his brother gasped sharply in pain, Ed heaved himself forward, closing his automail fingers around the blade, and tore it from the man's hand, flinging it away.

And in that instant, as Bond's arm pulled sideways, Maes had his clear shot. He flung a knife across the space between them, and it sank into Bond's abdomen like a hot blade slicing into butter. Bond jerked backwards with a yelp, only kept from falling by the brothers' hands clutching at him.

There was time for him to flash a deadly glare at Maes, narrow, pain-filled eyes promising vengeance, and then the red light of the array flared brilliantly. Maes rushed forward, screaming Ed's name, arm flung across his eyes against the light, but it was too late. The crimson brilliance snuffed out as he hurled himself into the circle.

It was empty. Ed and Al, with Bond between them, had vanished.

Maes gaped at the lines of the empty transmutation circle, turning around and around in disbelief. Gone. They were gone. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

The lines of the circle were now stained deep red, as though Singer's blood had spread along each line and had then been seared in. The man himself still lay where he had come to rest, one arm twisted under him and the other flung wide. As Maes dropped to his side, he could see Singer's face, eyes still wide in surprise at Bond's final knife-thrust.

With shaking hand, Maes reached down and closed the man's eyes, his own still traveling around and around the array, tracing the lines obsessively as though somehow, if he could only find a way, he could reactivate it himself and follow the boys where they had gone.

Gone… gone. They'd gone through the Gate.

They'd left him behind.

The realization hit him like a hammer blow, the cold shuddering over the bare skin of his arms and back as though an icy breeze had swept past. Ed and Al had gone through the Gate, taking Bond with them. And he'd been left behind. He was trapped, exiled from his own world, and now there was nothing -- _nothing_ -- that could ever take him back.

He heard the shouting behind him, dimly, as though it came through a wall.

"Ed! Tom, let go of me, dammit -- Terminator! Come back! Come _back!_" Ducky.

"They're gone, Ducky. You can't do anything now." Reilly.

Gone. He couldn't seem to absorb it, no matter how often the word tried to penetrate his brain.

"But they're not done yet! They didn't take everybody! Reilly, they have to come back to get--"

"Shut up. Just shut up." Reilly again, forcefully. "It's too late to do anything. They're gone. Drop it."

No matter how the array had been activated -- with violent death, exactly what the boys had worked so hard to avoid -- the deed was done. Maes set a hand on the ground, touching the lines drawn there -- and they were as dead and inert as any other random line in the dirt. There was no Gate to open for him.

And a man was dead, the brothers' friend and helper. And the boys would be fighting Bond alone.

He'd been left behind. Useless. No future here, no future there. No hope now of helping Ed and Al, of getting back home, of returning to his family -- _oh Gracia, Elysia_ -- what had it all been _for??_ And how -- _how_ -- could he possibly go on now?

Maes slumped back on his heels and buried his head in his hands.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

To say it was different than the first time was to akin to comparing the difference between blue and purple. A haze of black was the first thing he was aware of. Like a shredded curtain, it hung on the periphery, twisting in a non-existent breeze. Color was dull, sapped of vitality in the flat light. Of the Gate, there was no sign. The ground... floor... surface beneath their feet sucked at them like they were walking on congealed blood, yet there was no surface to see, just an expanse of white nothingness. It was impossible to identify where the illumination in this place was coming from; it was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

And there was no sound.

Ed wasn't certain if his voice would even carry if he spoke, but he was reluctant to try. In spite of the vacancy of this place, he could feel the buzz of something watching; it itched across his temple, and settled, thickly, at the base of his throat. He felt a beat of pain in his surging blood, but brushed it aside in irritation. Now wasn't the time for personal concerns, dammit! He could feel Al's fingers clutching at his sleeve. The hand that held him shook. He wanted to look back at his brother, to reassure him everything would be okay, but his body felt frozen in place.

They continued forward through the endless landscape. Far away, nearly at the extent of visibility, stood a stacked monument that looked like three large boulders, one on top of the other. They seemed to vibrate, shifting as he tried to rest his eyes on them. At moments, they seemed to both advance and recede at the same time. The sight made his stomach roll sickly, and he felt like he was constantly trying to keep his balance. He missed the soft whiteness that had met him after that devastating battle with Envy. He even missed the Gate children who normally resided here. At least they provided an outlet for his tension. Al's fingers tightened a little more. If it wasn't for that contact, he'd wonder if this was even real. But it was so very real. The boulders shifted again, jerking across the landscape in stuttered halts and starts.

It was unnerving.

He wanted to close his eyes rather than keep staring at the unsteady rock. He began to wonder if it wasn't simply the activity of distant heat waves making the pile shift that way. By contrast, where he and Al were now was freezing. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder what had happened to everyone else.

A warbling, earthy scream cut through the suffocating silence. As though a membrane had been cut, Ed was suddenly struck by noise. Al's terrified breaths wheezed next to his ear. The ground beneath him squelched and shlupped as it reluctantly released each step, only to reclaim the next one as his feet moved him forward. Even the motion of his clothing had a presence, the cloth sliding against itself in a static whisper. With the release of sound, so too came the release of that stifling hold that had kept him facing only forward. He hadn't even noticed the compression on his chest until suddenly it was gone.

With the pressure alleviated, much of his internal pain faded as well. Al, with obvious reluctance, loosened the hold he had on Ed's arm. He regarded his older brother with hollow eyes, and Ed was struck by how small he looked, pale and shaking with Heist's blood soaking through his shirt. He was the older brother, but he wasn't used to being the bigger one.

"Al, did you see what happened to everyone else?"

Skittering fingernails dragged through his chest at the silence that met his inquiry.

"Al?"

It was then he realized that Al's wide, terrified eyes hadn't been looking at him. His brother's gaze was fixed beyond Ed... fixed on what Ed himself had been forced to stare at, moments before.

Realization and action came too closely on each other's heels for him to act.

The blow snapped his head back, and sent him pummeling into the ground. Al, too, was jerked off his feet, his fingers still wrapped in the sleeve of Ed's shirt. In spite of the apparent liquidity of the ground, Ed hit with a slap, tasting blood between his teeth. There was no time to react, no time to check on his brother as something gripped him around his neck and one leg, lifting him into the air. He was weightless for just seconds as his body was thrown, tumbling, to the misleading ground. Yet even then, the creature was upon him before he'd even stopped rolling.

"S-stop!" His cry was ignored as rough hands encircled his throat, pulling him, gagging, to his feet -- only to toss him aside once again. He couldn't even catch his breath. Somewhere, Al was screaming at him, and Ed had a terrified vision of his little brother, body cartwheeling through the air brokenly. As the beast came at him a forth time, Ed slapped his hands together desperately, only to cry out with pain and shock as the being latched on to his metal wrist and jerked, hard. He could feel the strain all the way to his shoulder, where the automail connected. He swung out with his flesh hand, connecting with tissue that seemed to dissolve beneath his blow. Before he could pull away, the flesh flowed around his arm, thick and dark like syrup.

"BROTHER!!"

Al was there, pulling at the creature's other arm, the one locked around Ed's automail. Tendrils of black flesh slowly worked themselves beneath the seams of his forearm, and the metal started to give. Ed's eyes widened in fear. Some of the coiling fingers suddenly started to withdraw from his arm... moving back down the metal... headed for...

"No, Al!"

He twisted his body mightily, and for just a moment, was able to kick out with his foot, knocking Al to the ground. Al grunted when he hit, rolling to his side to clutch at his ribs. Ed hoped he'd only knocked the wind out of him. But even if he'd cracked a rib, he couldn't risk Al being hurt by this... this...

His grasping fingers brushed against something hard.

The ropey arms started to pull his hand away again, but not before Ed's questing fingers found the object again... and recognized it. It was the hilt of a knife... Hughes' knife, which he'd last seen burying itself deeply into a muscled abdomen. Looking up in shock, Ed caught a glimpse of the creature's eyes. Rheumy orbs stared back at him, grey-blue irises surrounded by blood-shot whites. "Bond..."

Ed's horrified whisper broke off with a startled yelp as the plating on his forearm finally gave way. The black ooze wrapped around the arm piece, while more viscous fingers twisted around the newly exposed layer. Bond was still staring at him... something about his expression... And even as a black-webbed hand raised the stolen arm plate, raised it and held a hand near its surface, Ed knew what was about to happen.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Roy sprang to his feet, trying desperately to blink through the blaring light, the ground still quaking under him. "Armstrong!" he called. "Hawkeye? Havoc? Are you still there?"

"We're here, chief." He recognized Havoc's voice. "You okay? We can't see a bloody thing."

"I think it's clearing -- just hold on for a -- " The breath choked off in Roy's throat as the light divided and flung itself aside like two halves of a flaming curtain. Before him, in a vast grey space that had nothing to do with this world or the ruined cellar in which he stood, arose a mighty, looming Gate. It was gigantic and ancient, its pillars dark as scorched oak, incised with bizarre characters. Snakes and mutilated animals writhed up the trunks of withered trees, and around the thick, carven doors ran what appeared to be words, but in a language Roy couldn't possibly decipher. Already the high, dark doors were open a crack, and continued to open as he gaped at the widening blackness between them.

He darted a glance aside, to find his three companions lined up at the edge of the circle. "Do you-- " he faltered. "Do you see it?"

Hawkeye flung him an incredulous _'Are you kidding??'_ look before returning to her stunned inspection of the apparition, one hand firmly gripping the gun still holstered at her side. Havoc gulped, his voice shaking, "Oh yeah. We see it all right. Kind of hard to miss. What is that thing?"

"It's the Gate to the other world," Roy whispered. "I really did it -- I found it! And you see how it's opening? I knew I was right! They're coming through -- I know it!"

"Well...," Havoc shuddered, his eyes never leaving the ominous darkness between the doors, "_something's_ coming through, anyway."

Roy paused, eyeing him in consternation before turning back to the Gate. It was so huge, so overwhelming -- the sense of Presence was so strong it was almost a physical force. As the doors opened further, a soundless wind rushed from the darkness between them, whipping his uniform around him and fluttering his hair. He felt as though it roared all around him, and yet there was nothing but silence, as the doors continued to open, soundlessly. Even the swishing grass around the edges of the cellar hole had fallen silent. The blackness between the doors was so concentrated it was almost tangible. It made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

"They're coming," he whispered. "We just have to be patient."

"How long should we wait?" Armstrong rumbled.

"As long as it takes." Roy bit off the words. After all this time, after all his searching, he wasn't going to give up now. _My research was thorough. We're going to do this. I know we are._

He took a step closer, tentatively lifting a hand toward the carvings in the roughened wood. He didn't dare touch them, but let the hand hover above the sculpted patterns, his eye curiously following the mysterious writing. A strange buzzing sensation began to manifest itself in the back of his mind, a vibration that seemed to settle in his back molars.

They were coming. He could feel it, at last, at last. And yet...

And yet there was no sign of them. They were there, somewhere -- he was sure of it, though he had no idea how he knew -- but they weren't coming any closer. They should see the Gate opening by now. They should be coming through...

Something is wrong. The thought jolted through him in a stab of fear. _They're not coming. Where are they? __**What have I done wrong?**_

He turned to the other alchemist and barked, "Armstrong, can you sense anything? Can you tell if-- "

But it was too late for questions. A long, unearthly scream of terrible pain and pure rage burst from the shadows within the Gate, shattering the heavy silence. Roy whipped back to face the towering edifice, his heart pounding in his throat, horror shuddering through him. _Edward! Alphonse! No!_ He leaped forward without thinking, only dimly aware of Hawkeye yelling frantically behind him, and plunged between the mighty pillars and the half-open leaves of the doorway. Hands groping through the nothingness before his sightless gaze, he staggered forward in darkness, pushing himself on until forced at last to halt and hope for his vision to clear and reveal the nature of his surroundings.

He looked back the way he had come and saw, as though through a thick screen, the column of light between the two doors. Good, at least he'd have that as a reference point--

--except that he wouldn't. Because as he watched in horror, as he thrust himself in alarm back toward the doors, they swung toward each other with astonishing speed, and crashed together with a powerful boom, throwing him onto his face. And leaving him alone in the darkness.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Ed felt his body slammed to the ground once more. It was getting harder to fight, his flesh arm shaking with the strain and his automail arm now almost useless as the oily mucus covered it nearly to his shoulder. Bond was struggling to slap his hand against the arm piece; Ed had just one chance. He suddenly relaxed his body, allowing the ooze to jerk him forward. In the bare seconds of inertia, between fighting back and giving in, the pressure on his arm loosened. Before the coils could renew their grip, he thrust his hand forward, striking the hilt of Hughes' knife square. Bond roared as the blade sank deeply into his flesh. For a moment, the dark matter coating the rogue alchemist responded as well -- rearing back in mimicry of Bond's pain. Then, before Ed could recover enough to try to scramble away, the wreathing mass collapsed down upon him in a smothering wave.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Roy Mustang, damn you, don't you _dare_ go in there without me!" Riza yelled.

As she flung herself forward, frantic to tackle Roy before he could think of entering the massive Gate, Havoc grabbed her around the waist and yanked her roughly back. She felt him bang, hard, into the cellar wall behind him, but even that couldn't loosen the tight grip of his arms. Even as she clawed at his hands and kicked viciously back against his shins, the hair-raising scream howled from the darkness between the great doors, and Riza watched in horror as Roy dashed into the void without a backward look.

"Riza, hold on!" Havoc grunted as she dug in her heels and jammed him against the wall again. "He knows -- ugh! -- what he's doing."

"I am not--" _slam!_ "--going to let him--" _slam!_ "--go in there alone!" _Slam!_

But Havoc's grip still held -- and she wouldn't be following Roy through the Gate after all. Before she could try again to extricate herself, the huge doors swung shut with a deafening boom, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Finally, her captor's iron grip lessened as he stumbled, and she staggered free.

But the Gate vanished even as she broke loose, the light of the alchemic reaction snuffing out, leaving the cellar half in shadow. Riza leapt -- too late -- into the center of the transmutation circle, turning on Armstrong as he stepped into it beside her. "Where is he?" she cried. "Bring it back! We have to go after him!"

"I will try," the big man nodded, face already drawn in concentration. He added, going to one knee to examine the lines of the array, "It may take a few moments. One must be cautious, seeking to use a complex transmutation circle created by another."

"What are you talking about?" she spluttered, trying to ignore the band of fear squeezing her heart. He was gone, he was _gone!_ "The lines are already there -- can't you just activate the circle again? We have to get the general back!"

Armstrong murmured as his eyes continued scanning the lines, "There are factors... one person's skills are greater in some areas while another may have no success at all. It would be the worst thing I could do, Captain Hawkeye, to rush into this without study..."

"We don't know how long he's got," Riza retorted. "We have to get him back before something terrible happens! Didn't you hear that scream?"

"Listen," Havoc put in, appearing beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder, his own eyes anxiously following the movements of Armstrong's hands, held lightly above the lines in the circle as the big man traced them. "It'll just take longer if you distract him, Riza. Give him a chance to figure this out. The boss'll be fine."

"I do hope he will," Armstrong muttered.

"What do you mean by that?" Riza demanded. _No. It can't be, not now, not after all we've been through._

When Armstrong looked up, his eyes pierced her to the core. "You must understand, Captain," he said gently. "We do not know where the general has gone. Remember that it took Edward Elric two years to discover a way to return. And we do not know if General Mustang has even been taken to the same place. I will try to reopen the Gate, and hope that he is able to attempt it as well, from the other side. But neither of us really understands the working of these Gates. It is possible that I will not succeed in bringing him back."

She shouldn't have let him stand in this circle alone. She shouldn't have listened to him. She should have been right there at his side. She should have --

"Riza." Havoc squeezed the hand on her shoulder, obviously sensing the maelstrom of self-recrimination swirling through her mind. "Just wait. They'll do this. I'm sure they will." But the unconscious frown drawing his brows together was not comforting.

Riza swallowed her fear and nodded, more to humor him than anything else. She fell silent, hands clenched into fists at her sides, watching intently as Armstrong continued studying the lines of the circle.

Damn Roy Mustang. If he made it back after this, she was going to chain their wrists together. After she'd shot out his other eye.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Al lifted his head slowly, gasping at the soreness where Ed's foot had connected. Trying to get his bearings, he swiveled his head, seeing only milky white ground and shifting black sky. Where was Ed? His fear for his brother struck him in his chest as solidly as a blow. Scrambling to his feet, he began searching frantically.

"Brother, brother where are you??" His cries were deadened, like he was shouting through a blanket. He stumbled through the stark landscape, desperately trying to catch sight of any anomaly. As he half-ran, half-walked, the shifting black skies above him started to wreath faster. Al stopped, looking on mutely as thin threads of inky darkness started dropping from the sky, appearing both fluid and solid by turns. He jerked as he heard a sound behind him, guttural and pain-filled.

"Brother!" Al wasn't sure if that was who the voice belonged to, but he had no doubt Ed wouldn't be far from whoever made it. Whirling, he squinted his eyes, trying to see through the rising mist. Something was condensing out of the blanketing white... a black morass of oily plasm. As the thick substance reared up, then plunged to the ground, a figure stumbled away from it, clutching something to his chest. Whoever the being was, he staggered away as Al ran towards him. Meanwhile, the black bile on the ground seemed to be enveloping something. The tips of two metal fingers protruded from the mass.

"Ed!" Al tried to plunge his fingers into the suppurating feculence, but the oozing mire resisted his attempts. Beyond him, the other figure had dropped to the ground, still clutching something to his chest. Al was too focused on trying to free his brother to really pay attention to the other man, but as the ground around him suddenly shuddered, he looked up quickly... and gasped. A Gate had risen from the ground behind the man.

Staring, Al wasn't aware he'd halted his futile efforts to save Ed until he felt the ooze beneath his fingers suddenly shift and begun rapidly flowing away from him, toward the other man. But the distant man, seeming to ignore everything else around him, had laid his treasured object on the ground.

It was then that Al saw what he had been holding: the outer shell of Ed's arm. And finally, he realized who the other man was.

"A..Al..."

Al's eyes jerked to his brother. Ed was deathly pale, his lips bloodless and his eyes red-rimmed. His gasping breath seemed to be coming at great cost.

"Brother, Brother what's wrong??" Al tried to check Ed for injuries, but stopped as another tremor shook the ground. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, he watched, stricken, as more Gates rose up, towering around them. There were three now, each slightly different from the other in texture and shade. Bond, still ignoring them, placed his hands on the stolen armor, and at last Al absorbed what was happening.

_**"NO!!"**_

A thunderclap of blue-white electricity enveloped the other alchemist, casting violent patterns of light on his grinning face. Behind him, the doors to the first Gate began to open. The crawling sludge was almost to the Gate when it suddenly turned, wrapping filmy coils around Bond's legs. Crying out, Bond was thrown to his chest, his curled fingers desperately trying to find purchase on the featureless surface.

Around them, the other Gates also began to open. Al watched open-mouthed as the black ooze began to take on distinct shapes, the closer it got to the first Gate. Bond was still struggling, but seemed to be growing rapidly weaker. His hand reached up, clutching at something buried in his side -- the knife Hughes had thrown. Grasping the hilt, Bond jerked it free in a spatter of blood, and wrenching around he swiped at the thing, or rather, the things that continued pulling him steadily backward.

The knife passed through the creatures as though they were made of water. Finally the short blade fell from Bond's hand and without pause, the creatures pulled him away through the hungry mouth of the Gate. Just before the doors closed on him, Al could hear his tortured scream.

Looking back, Al saw that the other two Gates had continued to open. He also noticed something else. The plating from Ed's arm had been transformed, into a shape Al recognized immediately -- an intricate spider, red lights like eyes, blinking out one by one.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Roy staggered blindly in the darkness, arms sweeping in front of him in the vague hope of finding the Gate. If he could just get himself there, he might have a hope of getting through again. Armstrong was on the other side, and the array was still there. If the other alchemist could reactivate it, there might just be a chance--

But if he got out, what would happen to the brothers? They were still here somewhere, he could feel it. Somewhere behind him -- if "behind" even had a meaning in this non-place. He couldn't just leave without trying to find them and bring them back. Especially if he'd guessed correctly, and there really was something wrong. There hadn't been a repeat of that bone-chilling scream, but the dead silence that had followed it was even more oppressive, and the dread in the pit of his stomach grew heavier as each moment passed.

Now the darkness began to fade, or else his eye was finally adjusting. He gritted his teeth and deliberately stopped flailing around, arms dropping to his sides as he took himself under control. He turned back in the direction that he thought he sensed the brothers, and waited for his sight to become clearer. Not that he waited patiently; he was already getting eye strain from peering into his murky surroundings. He couldn't suppress the sense of urgency that had flowered inside him at the sound of the scream.

The area around him was getting brighter, though. The black he'd first stumbled into had dissipated so much that it was now grey, quickly shading into white. He still couldn't tell if he was in some sort of enclosure or an open space; if there were walls, they weren't discernible, but flowed seamlessly into the...ground?...beneath his feet. Which appeared to give a little, as he moved, as though it weren't entirely solid or had been covered in some thick liquid that hadn't quite dried yet. He kept wanting to lift his feet, to pull his boots away from the stuff, whatever it was. Grimacing, he decided he didn't actually want to know what it was.

Roy began to turn around again, to survey his surroundings when, with a swirl of white smoke, the Gate seemed to loom suddenly out of the mist, like a slab of darkness forcing its way through the wispy white. It towered steeply above, giving the impression of leaning, as though it were about to thunder down upon him. Its doors remained firmly shut, and he had to fight down the urge to rush to it and bang his fists against them, yelling for Armstrong to get him out. Instead, he turned away from it, the need to run and escape dragging at his back like a stone as he turned. If he could keep the Gate directly behind him, he could at least keep his bearings as he peered through the whiteness. Though what good it would do to keep looking into the never-ending white he couldn't imag--

And then with another swirl of mist, they were there, just a short distance away. His heart leaped in joy and plunged in fear almost simultaneously at the sight of Alphonse kneeling at his brother's side, Ed sprawled before him, limbs splayed and still. Roy started toward them, lips parting as he drew breath to call out. But then Al had seen him and began shouting urgently, "Run! General, run! Quickly!"

His steps hitched in confusion, before he followed the boy's desperate glance toward another Gate -- how many of them were there?? -- and he gasped at the metal thing that sat before it, lights blinking out ominously, one by one.

He recognized it -- dammit, he _recognized_ it! But it was impossible, it couldn't be here, it couldn't exist! He staggered a couple of steps toward the metal spider, gaping like a fool --

"General, you _have to get away_!" Al screamed frantically, as he pulled Ed into his arms and tried to back away from the deadly thing.

"Alphonse, no!" No! He had to save them, help them, he couldn't lose them now when he'd just found them! Roy whirled back toward the brothers, muscles tightening to spring forward, but it was late, too late, the lights on the spider were blinking out -- the Gate -- the knife -- the boys -- he couldn't reach any of them and there was no time, nothing he could do --

The explosion was blinding, deafening, and it swept toward him in a rush of red flame. He waited for the agony, expected to feel himself shredded into bleeding chunks, but instead the hot, roaring wind picked him up and flung him violently backwards -- between the two dark, looming pillars -- between the doors it had forced open -- through the Gate and into his own world, as a violent boom shook the ground. He landed with a grunt on his back, gasping desperately to breathe in the hot, dry, raging air. Dizzily he lifted himself up on his elbows, trying in vain to reorient himself and sit, hoping still to rush back into the Gate to retrieve the brothers. He heard Riza screaming, and felt Armstrong's big hands at his shoulders, lifting him up.

Then watched in grief and horror as the mists around the closed Gate swirled one last time, and disappeared in a deafening whirlwind, sweeping across the Gate and taking it with them. Roy sat in the middle of a dead array, in the center of the burned-out cellar, and he had failed, failed.

The heat and the pain swept over him in a devastating wave, and he collapsed backward with a groan, limp and unconscious in Armstrong's grasp.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Maes gasped and sobbed, covering his eyes with a dust-coated palm. He could smell the dirt and chalk on his hand, and the stink of blood in the air, hear Ducky's whimpers and Reilly's muffled crying over the rumbling in his ears. Finally he became aware of hands pulling on his shoulders.

"Get your ass in gear, soldier!" someone shouted right next to him as the din grew louder, and it was only then that Maes realized the shaking and roaring wasn't within himself, but all around them.

He struggled and stumbled to his feet on the shifting surface, falling against a solid form that gave way and tumbled under his weight. Scrambling to gain his footing, he yanked Tom up, then he slipped, his hands slapping hard on the sharp, vibrating rocks beneath him, shredding skin and sending a bolt of white-hot agony up his right arm. Grasping his shoulder, he started to get back up and follow the older man, but his right knee gave out in a spark of shooting pain, and he watched the earth race back up to meet him once more.

Reilly caught him before he fell, putting herself under his left shoulder and wrapping an arm about his waist. Clumsily, they staggered and stumbled away from the center of the quake, but were brought up short by a blinding flash that lit the woods around them and washed away the color of everything nearby. In the same instant, a blast of hot air with the force of a hurricane hit them and threw them flat. Daring to look up, knowing he shouldn't, Maes watched a wave-front of light and air scream through the forest, tearing off leaves, snapping branches and trunks of the weaker trees, and bending the larger ones nearly to the ground.

Flipping to his back and sitting up, he watched in horrified fascination as the very air above the spent array shimmered and swirled and began pulsing in waves, the dark center writhing and spinning and growing larger. Maes came to his feet and shambled back toward the opening Gate, slowly at first, then gaining speed, desperately praying that he could jump it before it closed again, his heart aching at the sound of Reilly's anguished cry: _"Maes, no!"_

He skidded to an abrupt halt at the outside ring when an invisible force shoved him back and a deafening concussion slammed into him. Gasping for breath, staggering to regain his footing, he was hit again and thrown off his feet by something more corporeal. Instinctively wrapping his arms around the fleshy cannon ball, he tumbled and rolled, knowing that he had to protect the bundle without yet comprehending what it was.

When Maes finally came to a stop, he turned the body onto its back and quailed. Pale, lips an alarming shade of blue, and flesh ice cold, Edward Elric lay still. Maes leaned down with his ear near the boy's mouth and nose, then shot up and searched for a pulse. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Al clumsily disentangling himself from Reilly, holding his side and stammering an apology.

Then the young man gave the woman a hand up, at the same time turning toward Maes and Ed. Comprehension struck, and the boy stiffened and went white. "Brother?"

Maes gulped and tried to talk through a mouth gone dry. "He... he's not breathing," he croaked.


	36. Ch 26b Keep a Candle in the Window

**"Keep a Candle in the Window"  
Arc One: Chapter 26  
Balance of Power**

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**August 20, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

It wasn't a large clearing, Heist mused, but there was room enough to draw the big circle Ed seemed to think he needed to make the jump to hyperspace, or wherever it was he was going. Whether he really needed the circle or not had been the subject of much discussion between him and Singer, ever since the "sweaters" (as the Ducklord called them) had crawled out of their steaming hut, exhausted, disoriented, and ravenous.

Ed had hardly said a word to anyone until he'd downed what appeared to be a vat of scrambled eggs and half a pot of coffee. Al was a bit more cheerful, even though the dark smudges under his eyes were bigger than his brother's. Hughes, on the other hand, was positively manic during breakfast, almost rivaling Ducky on his wilder days. He bounced around their camp, chattering like an idiot, a couple of slices of toast in one hand and a precarious cup of coffee spilling in the other. Even now, breakfast finished, he grinned like a maniac, jiggling up and down on his toes, nearer to the edge of the circle.

Heist smirked at Ducky, standing hands in pockets beside her, at the edge of the clearing . "You can sure tell _someone's_ going home today."

"Yeah, I guess," he nodded, uncharacteristically subdued.

She peered into his glum face, and followed his gaze to where Ed had almost finished his careful construction of the circle. "Ducky," she murmured in surprise, "you're really going to miss them, aren't you?"

"No," he retorted. "They've been nothing but trouble since they got here. It'll be good to get back to a normal life." When she slowly turned back to him, regarding him under pointedly raised eyebrows, he snorted. "Shut up." As she continued with the knowing look, he rolled his eyes and left, walking closer to where Ed was working. Heist stayed back, out of Ed's sightline. Out of sight of most of them, actually, as they lined up around the edge of the circle like some kind of paying audience.

Ed, meanwhile, was putting the finishing touches on his drawing, as Singer stood by the edge and teased him. "Butterfly," the older man said, arms casually crossed, "you're making needless work for yourself."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Ed muttered. "And I'm doing what's necessary. You have to get a transmutation circle exactly right, for something this complicated--"

"You don't need the circle at all," Singer told him. "You have all you need already."

"And you're the alchemy expert now, I see. Maybe in the other world, I could clap my hands and do this, but I probably wouldn't risk it for something this important. In this world, though, I need to draw the circle for something like this."

"You have all you need without it," Singer repeated, crouching at the edge of the circle, elbows on his knees and hands hanging between them. "You and young Steppin' Wolf." He watched the young man work, a fond smile touching his lips.

Heist also smiled silently at the exchange. She wasn't as sure as Ducky that they'd find a normal life again, after the three guys from the other world were gone. But even though they pretty much hated her now, she contemplated their departure with gloom. Somehow they'd grown on her, despite everything. And apart from the little matter of having to run for their lives, they'd given her a glimpse of a wilder, more amazing life than either she or Ducky had ever imagined before. And Ed was a _genius_! He'd picked up more understanding of computers and programming, in just a few weeks, than most people would learn in years. Give him another month, and he might even rival Ducky -- or her! -- in his proficiency.

She grinned to herself. Couldn't have that, could we? Maybe it was a good thing Ed was leaving, or she could lose her status as Hacker Goddess.

So lost in thought was she, that even the cracking of the branch behind her didn't clue her in, until the arm was wrapped around her throat and the soft, too, too familiar voice was murmuring in her ear, "Just hold still and be quiet, and we can get this finished quickly, all right?"

But Heist couldn't prevent the squawking gasp of fear as Bond's arm pressed against her windpipe. As she convulsively clutched at the restrictive arm, she saw Ducky glance absently back, then watched the horror explode into his face.

"_HEIST!_" he screamed, lunging toward her.

"Stay back!" Bond ordered sharply, and she felt something sharp press against her throat as Ducky skidded to a halt, face twisted in anguish. Heist's knees wobbled and threatened to give out under her, and she fought to keep standing, to keep herself from being choked. The others had noticed by now, and even Ed had leapt to his feet. But no one dared make a move. "That's right," Bond said. "Everyone behave, and nobody will get hurt. Well... almost nobody."

"What do you want, Bond?" Hughes demanded. "Let the girl go, and we'll talk."

"I'm not entirely stupid, Hughes," Bond sneered. "And you of all people should know better than to expect me to let her go now."

Hughes' face tightened, and Ducky gasped. "Please!" he cried. "Whatever you want -- take me! Let her go! _Please!_"

_Oh Ducks._ Heist blinked away the sudden sting of tears.

"No can do." His breath would have tickled her ear, if her nerves hadn't been screaming tight with the tension and fear. "She's my ticket home," Bond almost crooned. "Isn't she, Fullmetal?"

Heist's frantic eyes flew to Ed's face in time to see it stiffen in anger and revulsion. "No," he said flatly. "Not a chance. Not that way."

"Come now," Bond cajoled almost pleasantly. "It's not like you care to save her, and we both know it. She's a traitor. She's expendable. And we know you need a death, to open the Gate home. I'd bet you've been planning to use her all along."

Heist gasped and the arm tightened around her neck for a moment, until her vision swam. As it cleared, she watched Ducky whirl to gape at Ed, a horrified question in his eyes, and heard Ed snap, "Don't be stupid."

But it didn't matter, did it? Sidney -- Bond -- was going to kill her, and even if Ed hadn't planned it, it would give him what he needed. _They hate me._ He and the others would get home for sure. _They'll never pass up a chance like this!_ She was dead, she was dead. Her trembling hands tugged mindlessly at the arm that held her, as her body shook in Bond's deadly embrace.

"If you let her go, Stealthworks," growled Maes Hughes, eyes narrowed in a deadly, ice-green glare that Heist could never have imagined seeing on his kind, friendly face, "you might survive this. If not -- you're a dead man. That's a promise."

Silently, Tom took a stance next to Hughes, body facing him, but his right arm straight out and the gun in his hand aimed at the only part of Bond not shielded by Heist: his head. The older man's thumb pulled the hammer back with a resounding _click_ that seemed to echo through the woods as he wordlessly made the same vow.

Heist could almost feel Bond's grin widen, gaping behind her ear. "Spoken like a man neutered by principle. You don't really want to get home to that wife and little girl, do you, Hughes? If you did, you'd be leaping at this chance. You'd rather enjoy the more convenient charms of your girlfriend on this side of the Gate, wouldn't you?" His arm shifted, loosening from around Heist's throat, but she could feel the rest of his body tense up. Something was coming.

"You bastard!" Hughes hissed.

"There's another way, Bond," Ed urged, coming out to the edge of his circle, to stand beside his brother. "We can do this without hurting anybody. Let her go."

"Don't make me laugh. As if I'd fall for such a convenient, obvious lie. Not a chance, Fullmetal," Bond said, his arm shifting again, the hand pulling back toward Heist's shoulder, the blade in the other hand moving as well, toward the other side of her neck.

_Oh my god! He's going to slit my throat!_

She lunged away, panic injecting the adrenaline, but the last vestiges of her rational mind choosing the safest direction: sideways, away from the knife. She was quick, and almost made it, but Bond was quicker. He caught her by the wrist with one hand, and yanked her partway back.

"Not before time, sweetheart," he smiled narrowly, and raised the other, knife-wielding hand.

She screamed as it slashed down her forearm, and the old suicide joke dashed insanely through her thoughts, _Across the street to the hospital, down the highway to the morgue._ She saw her own blood shower in a wide arc as Bond dragged her a few feet, then shoved her violently forward. Through a haze of pain and dripping red, she saw herself falling toward the circle Ed had created, as her knees finally gave out.

"_Keep her outside!_" someone screamed -- Ed? Al? She could hardly tell, with everyone else shrieking and yelling.

But they were suddenly both there -- Ed and Al -- one grabbing her around the waist and the other clutching her free hand, trying to pull her away before she could touch the circle. Bond refused to relinquish his grip on the wounded arm -- oh god, it hurt, it _hurt_, she was bleeding to death, she was _dying!_ -- and kept trying to drag her across the edge with him.

Heist felt like she was being torn apart. The pain seemed to permeate her whole body, the blood was everywhere, and she could hear Ducky screaming. _I'm dying, Ducks! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry for everything!_ Jerked backward and forward, the breath slammed out of her and pain shooting through her arm with every jerk, she saw only snatched bursts of images -- Reilly with her fists to her mouth -- Hughes darting forward as Al yelled, _"Stay out of the circle, Maes!"_ -- the swift whipping of Ed's ponytail--

-- then one rapid glimpse of Singer's face behind her tormentor as he grabbed Bond's shoulder and yanked him back. Bond's gripping hand flew open in reflex, and Heist fell backwards, in a tangle of arms and legs, falling on top of Al, with Ed rolling just in time to avoid landing on her. She moaned in pain, her whole side on fire. Ed was instantly beside her again, kneeling, helping to lift her as his brother got out from under her. Then he leaned her gently back, into Al's arms as the younger brother sat, splayed so he could hold her against his chest.

Ed's metal hand tightened, painfully, around her arm just below the elbow, while he pressed his other hand directly over the bloody slash. As Heist yelped, twisting reflexively, trying to pull her arm away, he yelled, "Somebody get help! Doctor, bandages, whatever! And _stay out of that circle!_" A gentle hand stroked her hair from behind, pulling it out of her face, as she began to shiver uncontrollably. "It's okay, you're all right now," Al murmured. "Just hold on till we fix this..."

She was going to faint. _They saved me._ She thought the pain would keep her awake, but she could feel herself slipping away. _They didn't let him kill me._ She saw Ducky leaning over her and the brothers, tears of fear streaming down his face. _Ducks, you're giving away a weakness, you know._ Reilly was rushing over, grabbing Hughes' shirt as he tore it off, the two of them already ripping it into strips. _They're not going to let me bleed to death...and __**god**__, does Hughes have muscles..._

The last thing she saw, as her head lolled sideways and the curtain came down, was Bond and Singer, in the middle of the circle, each facing the other in a battle-ready crouch.

The larger man before him had strength in his favor, as well as the fury to fuel his attack. He fought with the manner of one who was practiced in stealth and cunning -- but who had long since stopped hearing the voice of the earth. Still, he must have been able to read something of his opponent's skills -- for he tucked the knife, more hindrance now than help, into his belt, and splayed his fingers in mimicry of his enemy.

They circled around the tattooed ground, each studying the other, waiting for that one clear opening. In an ancient cedar beyond the edge of the clearing, Raven watched them, beady black eyes fixed, feathered head tilted. The creature would not interfere. In fact, Singer doubted it would even cross the lines carved into the dirt beneath his shoes. There was Power here, radiating up through the soles of his feet and along the paths of his veins. It carried like a hum through the air -- vibrating electrically. If he could feel it this strongly, he knew his companion would be nearly overcome by the sensations.

The soulless man was smiling at him, an expression that tugged his sallow skin into a vile parody of human emotion. He watched, knowing Bond would break soon. His muscles had slowly been tensing for this moment... and as though aware of that thought, Bond lunged, locking his fingers around Singer's arm.

Singer allowed the contact, loosening his body to curl to the side. Then, bracing his legs, he suddenly twisted his shoulders, sending his opponent rolling to the ground. The force of the landing jarred the knife from his belt and it skated toward the edge of the circle –- out of Bond's current reach. However, the move wasn't without loss; for barely had Bond landed before his arm lashed back and recaptured Singer by the wrist, yanking the lighter man off his feet. They both moved quickly, Bond in a half-lunge, and Singer with an elegant backflip. Not giving the other man a chance to keep his footing, Singer leaped again, springboarding off Bond's chest with a violent kick towards the face. His foot grazed his opponent's nose as Bond jerked back, then lurched into a roll.

Singer hit the ground loosely, bending his knees as he prepared to lunge forward again, only to rock backward as his enemy crashed into his chest. He struck the ground hard, his back screaming where it collided with a pointed rock. Instantly, he pulled his hands before him and dug long fingers into the channels of Bond's throat. Tearing away, coughing, Bond wrapped one hand around his abused flesh while the other braced on his knee. In that second's reprieve, Singer gained his feet, resisting the desire to massage the throbbing ache above his kidneys.

In the silence of the moment, a pale exhalation of warm wind skipped through the circle, lifting the dampened hair from Singer's brow. On the periphery, the watching eyes of the traveling friends stared in silence. He remained acutely aware of the rapid breathing of Iron Butterfly and Steppin' Wolf as they wrestled against their desire to join the battle, to tend instead to the terrified shadow called Heist. Hovering close them, the ones called Ducky and Reilly emitted streams of layered fear, while the two men -- the Father and Hughes -- paced along the edge of the circle, their kinetic energy fairly snapping around them in unspent anxiety.

The branches of the cedar clipped together lightly, and from its heart, Singer heard a sound like a deep crack. Perched on a thick bough, Raven gave a single, piercing cry. He heard the message in its poignant croak, and let his arms fall smoothly to his sides.

In that second, the other man charged.

Singer tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut as he listened to the pulse around him. He felt the pressure of Bond closing on him -- a malevolent heat radiating from his aura like a poisoned cloud. The pounding steps thumped on the yellowed earth, the light breeze that had been cooling him faded and died. Holding his arms at his side... he waited.

A moment before Bond reached him, Singer spun to the side. His hand lashed out, burying itself in the soft flesh of Bond's armpit. The other man made a startled sound of pain as Singer dug in his nails. With the other hand held flat like a blade, he slammed it into the concavity beneath Bond's sternum. The man grunted, instantly wrapping a crushing fist around Singer's wrist. The other arm was dead at his side, and Singer knew it would take some time for the feeling to return. He was just starting to withdraw his hand from beneath the other man's arm when Bond's grip on his wrist tightened even more. Looking up sharply, he found himself eye to eye with Bond, the other's ragged face runneled with sweat and grinning fiercely.

"That," hissed the alchemist, "was a definite no-no."

Savagely, Bond suddenly twisted the wrist in his grip, and Singer barked out a cry at the muffled snap. Pushing forward roughly, Bond sent him sprawling, and his aching back tightened at the impact with the baked earth. A heavy foot descended towards his chest, but Singer was just able to roll away. From the periphery, he sensed Tom and Hughes starting towards him. The emergency with young Heist was passing. He could not risk the others' involvement. He could not let that be. A look to the side, meeting the young, frightened eyes staring back at him. Steppin' Wolf. "Sing well my friend," he said softly.

The hazel eyes widened slightly, but before the boy could react, Singer forced himself to his feet.

It was time to end this.

**August 20, 1919  
Risembool, Amestris**

Roy stood on the grass, a casual hand thrust into a pocket as he, Hawkeye, and Havoc watched Armstrong's prodigious display of strength below them. The large man had had no trouble clearing the cellar beneath the burned-out house, heaving entire beams aside as though they weighed nothing at all. His three fellow officers stood just far enough from the edge of the caved-in hole to avoid flying debris, wincing occasionally at a louder than usual crack as mortared clumps of bricks smashed into chunks of plastered wall and smashed them to bits. In between the crashing and scraping sounds from below, a soft breeze set the tall grass whispering around them.

"Wouldn't want to get in the way of that," Havoc remarked as what seemed like half the fallen floor was shoved aside at once.

"Which is why we're up here and he's down there," Roy replied absently. "At least for the moment."

"You're sure you can get through from here?" Hawkeye wondered.

"Not at all," came the calm reply. "But I have to try. I'm sure, at least, that this is one of the places where there's a portal. So that gives me some hope." He kept his hands clenched into fists, hoping to conceal his nerves. It had been years since he'd faced a task with such butterflies in his stomach. It didn't help that he'd been in Risembool before, just after the portal on this spot had been breached, and had seen the end results: a suffering boy with two limbs missing, and another boy with no body at all, just a soul tacked to a suit of armor. Roy swallowed with dry throat, and murmured, "Just be sure you stay away from the array once it's drawn, Riza. No matter what happens."

In only a few moments more, the big man in the cellar had cleared away enough space to stand in and, even more important, space in which to draw a sizable array. He stood in the center, dark uniform blanketed by a light film of dust, and glanced questioningly upward. Despite his considerable exertions, he hadn't even worked up a sweat. Roy responded to his unspoken query with a curt nod. "One moment, General," Armstrong cautioned. "Let me make a safe way down." He began to shift one of the former floor beams toward the edge of the hole, as though to create a makeshift ladder.

But Roy had already hopped lightly down to the open space, landing in a crouch before straightening. "No need for that," he said tersely. "Let's just get on with this." He heard the heavy thud of Havoc jumping down behind him, and mere seconds later, Hawkeye's lighter landing. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned at them, "I'd prefer that the two of you stay up there, on solid ground."

"Sorry, sir," Hawkeye replied flatly. "We're staying down here, in case something goes wrong."

He knew he wouldn't win if he tried to argue this one, and he'd already lost enough arguments with these two, lately. Pursing his lips, he repeated reluctantly, "Be sure to stay away from the circle, then. In fact, stand as far back as you can. There's nothing you can do if the alchemy goes wrong, but Armstrong might need your help afterward." He stared both Hawkeye and Havoc in the face, hard, until they had backed away almost to the wall. Only then did he move further into the center.

Armstrong shifted a final black, jagged hunk of fallen floor, propping it against a wall, and retreated in order to allow his superior more room to work. Roy pulled a stick of chalk and a sheet of paper from his pocket and, bending, began to draw, constantly comparing the chalk drawing with its rough counterpart on the paper.

He wasn't comfortable with some of the guesswork involved in this array, but the design was the best he could do after all his research. If it blew up on him, at least Armstrong was here to try to mitigate some of the effects and protect Hawkeye and Havoc. He didn't think anything would go really wrong, but you never knew, the first time you tried something. At least, he mused, he was more experienced than Ed and Al had been the first time they had tried something so complicated. He walked around and completed the outer circle first, then went to one knee as he sketched the inner details of the array. He marveled at the steadiness of his hand.

But for the merest second he hesitated, as an image flashed into his mind: Edward Elric, clapping his hands together and pressing them onto the floor, without even the need to draw a laborious array. It would be nice to do this so easily, but Roy had to be content with drawing the circle the old fashioned way.

After a final comparison of his chalk design with the array on the paper, Roy absently stuffed paper and chalk back into a pocket. He cast Havoc and Hawkeye a final warning glance, then checked with Armstrong, who nodded reassurance. Both alchemists were as ready as they could be for whatever transpired...

As Singer gathered his feet beneath him again, Maes tripped the release in his right sleeve and felt the knife drop into his hand. Skirting the array, he sought for an opening, cursing the fact that Singer and Bond were moving so quickly. As they struggled together, shifting back and forth and around and around, there was no way he could hit Bond without endangering the other man. Suddenly Bond dropped to one knee at the edge of the circle, his one still-functioning hand scooping up the all-but-forgotten blade. Grimacing in irritation as he seemingly lost patience for the game, he whirled back to face Singer. The sun flashed on metal as, in one smooth motion, he thrust it into the man's chest with such force that Singer was lifted from his feet.

"Your blood will do nicely, as well," Bond purred as he twisted the knife and shoved it deeper with a wet sound of gristle tearing and bone cracking.

Singer was dead before he slid off the knife, collapsing backwards to land on his back in the middle of the array. With a tooth-clenched grin, Bond gave his body a couple of vicious kicks until it rolled over, arms flopping. Blood spattered all over the array, and began to collect in a pool under Singer's chest...

...Remaining on one knee, Roy lifted his hands. But hesitated again as he felt the ground begin to shake beneath him.

"What the...?" Havoc glanced around uneasily as clods of dirt and rotted vegetation shook loose from the edge of the hole and dropped to the floor, bouncing a little as they shook apart. "General, are you doing that?"

"It's the other side," Roy whispered, pulse beginning to pound. "Something's coming from the other side." _It's you, isn't it? Well, I'm ready at this end!_

Hawkeye jerked forward. "General -- Roy -- wait!"

He slammed his hands onto the ground, in the center of the array, and the power roused instantly. It seemed to flash and spark through the lines of the circle, up his arms, and through his body, bolting through him like light, like flame. His startled gaze flew to Armstrong's face, as the man moved to the outer edge of the circle, stiffly at alert.

"General -- be careful!" the man blurted.

And then the white light flared brilliantly, and every distraction burned out of Roy's mind...

...Reilly screamed, and both Ed and Al leaped forward, Heist momentarily forgotten, into the midst of the red glow that suddenly sprang up from the line of the array.

"Wait!" Maes shouted, swallowing his horror. "Stay back -- I can't get a clear shot -- wait -- _wait!_"

But it was too late to stop them. They lurched back and forth, one brother on each arm as Bond flailed around, trying to shake them off. Ducky screamed, "_ED!_" and tried to rush the fighting group, but Maes yelled, "Keep back!" and flung out an arm to hold him back. Tom already had hold of one of the young man's arms, and jerked him sharply backwards, ponytail flopping, away from the edge of the flaring circle.

Bond's dripping knife still waved wildly in one hand, and for a split second it tilted back enough to carve a thin line of blood across Al's upper arm. As his brother gasped sharply in pain, Ed heaved himself forward, closing his automail fingers around the blade, and tore it from the man's hand, flinging it away.

And in that instant, as Bond's arm pulled sideways, Maes had his clear shot. He flung a knife across the space between them, and it sank into Bond's abdomen like a hot blade slicing into butter. Bond jerked backwards with a yelp, only kept from falling by the brothers' hands clutching at him.

There was time for him to flash a deadly glare at Maes, narrow, pain-filled eyes promising vengeance, and then the red light of the array flared brilliantly. Maes rushed forward, screaming Ed's name, arm flung across his eyes against the light, but it was too late. The crimson brilliance snuffed out as he hurled himself into the circle.

It was empty. Ed and Al, with Bond between them, had vanished.

Maes gaped at the lines of the empty transmutation circle, turning around and around in disbelief. Gone. They were gone. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

The lines of the circle were now stained deep red, as though Singer's blood had spread along each line and had then been seared in. The man himself still lay where he had come to rest, one arm twisted under him and the other flung wide. As Maes dropped to his side, he could see Singer's face, eyes still wide in surprise at Bond's final knife-thrust.

With shaking hand, Maes reached down and closed the man's eyes, his own still traveling around and around the array, tracing the lines obsessively as though somehow, if he could only find a way, he could reactivate it himself and follow the boys where they had gone.

Gone… gone. They'd gone through the Gate.

They'd left him behind.

The realization hit him like a hammer blow, the cold shuddering over the bare skin of his arms and back as though an icy breeze had swept past. Ed and Al had gone through the Gate, taking Bond with them. And he'd been left behind. He was trapped, exiled from his own world, and now there was nothing -- _nothing_ -- that could ever take him back.

He heard the shouting behind him, dimly, as though it came through a wall.

"Ed! Tom, let go of me, dammit -- Terminator! Come back! Come _back_!" Ducky.

"They're gone, Ducky. You can't do anything now." Reilly.

Gone. He couldn't seem to absorb it, no matter how often the word tried to penetrate his brain.

"But they're not done yet! They didn't take everybody! Reilly, they have to come back to get--"

"Shut up. Just shut up." Reilly again, forcefully. "It's too late to do anything. They're gone. Drop it."

No matter how the array had been activated -- with violent death, exactly what the boys had worked so hard to avoid -- the deed was done. Maes set a hand on the ground, touching the lines drawn there -- and they were as dead and inert as any other random line in the dirt. There was no Gate to open for him.

And a man was dead, the brothers' friend and helper. And the boys would be fighting Bond alone.

He'd been left behind. Useless. No future here, no future there. No hope now of helping Ed and Al, of getting back home, of returning to his family -- _oh Gracia, Elysia_ -- what had it all been _for?_ And how -- _how_ -- could he possibly go on now?

Maes slumped back on his heels and buried his head in his hands.

To say it was different than the first time was to akin to comparing the difference between blue and purple. A haze of black was the first thing he was aware of. Like a shredded curtain, it hung on the periphery, twisting in a non-existent breeze. Color was dull, sapped of vitality in the flat light. Of the Gate, there was no sign. The ground... floor... surface beneath their feet sucked at them like they were walking on congealed blood, yet there was no surface to see, just an expanse of white nothingness. It was impossible to identify where the illumination in this place was coming from; it was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

And there was no sound.

Ed wasn't certain if his voice would even carry if he spoke, but he was reluctant to try. In spite of the vacancy of this place, he could feel the buzz of something watching; it itched across his temple, and settled, thickly, at the base of his throat. He felt a beat of pain in his surging blood, but brushed it aside in irritation. Now wasn't the time for personal concerns, dammit! He could feel Al's fingers clutching at his sleeve. The hand that held him shook. He wanted to look back at his brother, to reassure him everything would be okay, but his body felt frozen in place.

They continued forward through the endless landscape. Far away, nearly at the extent of visibility, stood a stacked monument that looked like three large boulders, one on top of the other. They seemed to vibrate, shifting as he tried to rest his eyes on them. At moments, they seemed to both advance and recede at the same time. The sight made his stomach roll sickly, and he felt like he was constantly trying to keep his balance. He missed the soft whiteness that had met him after that devastating battle with Envy. He even missed the Gate children who normally resided here. At least they provided an outlet for his tension. Al's fingers tightened a little more. If it wasn't for that contact, he'd wonder if this was even real. But it was so very real. The boulders shifted again, jerking across the landscape in stuttered halts and starts.

It was unnerving.

He wanted to close his eyes rather than keep staring at the unsteady rock. He began to wonder if it wasn't simply the activity of distant heat waves making the pile shift that way. By contrast, where he and Al were now was freezing. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder what had happened to everyone else.

A warbling, earthy scream cut through the suffocating silence. As though a membrane had been cut, Ed was suddenly struck by noise. Al's terrified breaths wheezed next to his ear. The ground beneath him squelched and shlupped as it reluctantly released each step, only to reclaim the next one as his feet moved him forward. Even the motion of his clothing had a presence, the cloth sliding against itself in a static whisper. With the release of sound, so too came the release of that stifling hold that had kept him facing only forward. He hadn't even noticed the compression on his chest until suddenly it was gone.

With the pressure alleviated, much of his internal pain faded as well. Al, with obvious reluctance, loosened the hold he had on Ed's arm. He regarded his older brother with hollow eyes, and Ed was struck by how small he looked, pale and shaking with Heist's blood soaking through his shirt. He was the older brother, but he wasn't used to being the bigger one.

"Al, did you see what happened to everyone else?"

Skittering fingernails dragged through his chest at the silence that met his inquiry.

"Al?"

It was then he realized that Al's wide, terrified eyes hadn't been looking at him. His brother's gaze was fixed beyond Ed... fixed on what Ed himself had been forced to stare at, moments before.

Realization and action came too closely on each other's heels for him to act.

The blow snapped his head back, and sent him pummeling into the ground. Al, too, was jerked off his feet, his fingers still wrapped in the sleeve of Ed's shirt. In spite of the apparent liquidity of the ground, Ed hit with a slap, tasting blood between his teeth. There was no time to react, no time to check on his brother as something gripped him around his neck and one leg, lifting him into the air. He was weightless for just seconds as his body was thrown, tumbling, to the misleading ground. Yet even then, the creature was upon him before he'd even stopped rolling.

"S-stop!" His cry was ignored as rough hands encircled his throat, pulling him, gagging, to his feet -- only to toss him aside once again. He couldn't even catch his breath. Somewhere, Al was screaming at him, and Ed had a terrified vision of his little brother, body cartwheeling through the air brokenly. As the beast came at him a forth time, Ed slapped his hands together desperately, only to cry out with pain and shock as the being latched on to his metal wrist and jerked, hard. He could feel the strain all the way to his shoulder, where the automail connected. He swung out with his flesh hand, connecting with tissue that seemed to dissolve beneath his blow. Before he could pull away, the flesh flowed around his arm, thick and dark like syrup.

"BROTHER!"

Al was there, pulling at the creature's other arm, the one locked around Ed's automail. Tendrils of black flesh slowly worked themselves beneath the seams of his forearm, and the metal started to give. Ed's eyes widened in fear. Some of the coiling fingers suddenly started to withdraw from his arm... moving back down the metal... headed for...

"No, Al!"

He twisted his body mightily, and for just a moment, was able to kick out with his foot, knocking Al to the ground. Al grunted when he hit, rolling to his side to clutch at his ribs. Ed hoped he'd only knocked the wind out of him. But even if he'd cracked a rib, he couldn't risk Al being hurt by this... this...

His grasping fingers brushed against something hard.

The ropey arms started to pull his hand away again, but not before Ed's questing fingers found the object again... and recognized it. It was the hilt of a knife... Hughes' knife, which he'd last seen burying itself deeply into a muscled abdomen. Looking up in shock, Ed caught a glimpse of the creature's eyes. Rheumy orbs stared back at him, grey-blue irises surrounded by blood-shot whites. "Bond..."

Ed's horrified whisper broke off with a startled yelp as the plating on his forearm finally gave way. The black ooze wrapped around the arm piece, while more viscous fingers twisted around the newly exposed layer. Bond was still staring at him... something about his expression... And even as a black-webbed hand raised the stolen arm plate, raised it and held a hand near its surface, Ed knew what was about to happen.

Roy sprang to his feet, trying desperately to blink through the blaring light, the ground still quaking under him. "Armstrong!" he called. "Hawkeye? Havoc? Are you still there?"

"We're here, chief." He recognized Havoc's voice. "You okay? We can't see a bloody thing."

"I think it's clearing -- just hold on for a -- " The breath choked off in Roy's throat as the light divided and flung itself aside like two halves of a flaming curtain. Before him, in a vast grey space that had nothing to do with this world or the ruined cellar in which he stood, arose a mighty, looming Gate. It was gigantic and ancient, its pillars dark as scorched oak, incised with bizarre characters. Snakes and mutilated animals writhed up the trunks of withered trees, and around the thick, carven doors ran what appeared to be words, but in a language Roy couldn't possibly decipher. Already the high, dark doors were open a crack, and continued to open as he gaped at the widening blackness between them.

He darted a glance aside, to find his three companions lined up at the edge of the circle. "Do you-- " he faltered. "Do you see it?"

Hawkeye flung him an incredulous _'Are you kidding?'_ look before returning to her stunned inspection of the apparition, one hand firmly gripping the gun still holstered at her side. Havoc gulped, his voice shaking, "Oh yeah. We see it all right. Kind of hard to miss. What is that thing?"

"It's the Gate to the other world," Roy whispered. "I really did it -- I found it! And you see how it's opening? I knew I was right! They're coming through -- I know it!"

"Well...," Havoc shuddered, his eyes never leaving the ominous darkness between the doors, "_something's_ coming through, anyway."

Roy paused, eyeing him in consternation before turning back to the Gate. It was so huge, so overwhelming -- the sense of _Presence_ was so strong it was almost a physical force. As the doors opened further, a soundless wind rushed from the darkness between them, whipping his uniform around him and fluttering his hair. He felt as though it roared all around him, and yet there was nothing but silence, as the doors continued to open, soundlessly. Even the swishing grass around the edges of the cellar hole had fallen silent. The blackness between the doors was so concentrated it was almost tangible. It made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

"They're coming," he whispered. "We just have to be patient."

"How long should we wait?" Armstrong rumbled.

"As long as it takes." Roy bit off the words. After all this time, after all his searching, he wasn't going to give up now. _My research was thorough. We're going to do this. I know we are._

He took a step closer, tentatively lifting a hand toward the carvings in the roughened wood. He didn't dare touch them, but let the hand hover above the sculpted patterns, his eye curiously following the mysterious writing. A strange buzzing sensation began to manifest itself in the back of his mind, a vibration that seemed to settle in his back molars.

They were coming. He could feel it, at last, at last. And yet...

And yet there was no sign of them. They were there, somewhere -- he was sure of it, though he had no idea how he knew -- but they weren't coming any closer. They should see the Gate opening by now. They should be coming through...

_Something is wrong._ The thought jolted through him in a stab of fear. _They're not coming. Where are they? __**What have I done wrong?**_

He turned to the other alchemist and barked, "Armstrong, can you sense anything? Can you tell if-- "

But it was too late for questions. A long, unearthly scream of terrible pain and pure rage burst from the shadows within the Gate, shattering the heavy silence. Roy whipped back to face the towering edifice, his heart pounding in his throat, horror shuddering through him. _Edward! Alphonse! No!_ He leaped forward without thinking, only dimly aware of Hawkeye yelling frantically behind him, and plunged between the mighty pillars and the half-open leaves of the doorway. Hands groping through the nothingness before his sightless gaze, he staggered forward in darkness, pushing himself on until forced at last to halt and hope for his vision to clear and reveal the nature of his surroundings.

He looked back the way he had come and saw, as though through a thick screen, the column of light between the two doors. Good, at least he'd have that as a reference point--

--except that he wouldn't. Because as he watched in horror, as he thrust himself in alarm back toward the doors, they swung toward each other with astonishing speed, and crashed together with a powerful boom, throwing him onto his face. And leaving him alone in the darkness.

Ed felt his body slammed to the ground once more. It was getting harder to fight, his flesh arm shaking with the strain and his automail arm now almost useless as the oily mucus covered it nearly to his shoulder. Bond was struggling to slap his hand against the arm piece; Ed had just one chance. He suddenly relaxed his body, allowing the ooze to jerk him forward. In the bare seconds of inertia, between fighting back and giving in, the pressure on his arm loosened. Before the coils could renew their grip, he thrust his hand forward, striking the hilt of Hughes' knife square. Bond roared as the blade sank deeply into his flesh. For a moment, the dark matter coating the rogue alchemist responded as well -- rearing back in mimicry of Bond's pain. Then, before Ed could recover enough to try to scramble away, the wreathing mass collapsed down upon him in a smothering wave.

"Roy Mustang, damn you, don't you _dare_ go in there without me!" Riza yelled.

As she flung herself forward, frantic to tackle Roy before he could think of entering the massive Gate, Havoc grabbed her around the waist and yanked her roughly back. She felt him bang, hard, into the cellar wall behind him, but even that couldn't loosen the tight grip of his arms. Even as she clawed at his hands and kicked viciously back against his shins, the hair-raising scream howled from the darkness between the great doors, and Riza watched in horror as Roy dashed into the void without a backward look.

"Riza, hold on!" Havoc grunted as she dug in her heels and jammed him against the wall again. "He knows -- ugh! -- what he's doing."

"I am not--" _slam!_ "--going to let him--" _slam!_ "--go in there alone!" _Slam!_

But Havoc's grip still held -- and she wouldn't be following Roy through the Gate after all. Before she could try again to extricate herself, the huge doors swung shut with a deafening boom, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Finally, her captor's iron grip lessened as he stumbled, and she staggered free.

But the Gate vanished even as she broke loose, the light of the alchemic reaction snuffing out, leaving the cellar half in shadow. Riza leapt -- too late -- into the center of the transmutation circle, turning on Armstrong as he stepped into it beside her. "Where is he?" she cried. "Bring it back! We have to go after him!"

"I will try," the big man nodded, face already drawn in concentration. He added, going to one knee to examine the lines of the array, "It may take a few moments. One must be cautious, seeking to use a complex transmutation circle created by another."

"What are you talking about?" she spluttered, trying to ignore the band of fear squeezing her heart. He was gone, he was _gone!_ "The lines are already there -- can't you just activate the circle again? We have to get the general back!"

Armstrong murmured as his eyes continued scanning the lines, "There are factors... one person's skills are greater in some areas while another may have no success at all. It would be the worst thing I could do, Captain Hawkeye, to rush into this without study..."

"We don't know how long he's got," Riza retorted. "We have to get him back before something terrible happens! Didn't you hear that scream?"

"Listen," Havoc put in, appearing beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder, his own eyes anxiously following the movements of Armstrong's hands, held lightly above the lines in the circle as the big man traced them. "It'll just take longer if you distract him, Riza. Give him a chance to figure this out. The boss'll be fine."

"I do hope he will," Armstrong muttered.

"What do you mean by that?" Riza demanded. _No. It can't be, not now, not after all we've been through._

When Armstrong looked up, his eyes pierced her to the core. "You must understand, Captain," he said gently. "We do not know where the general has gone. Remember that it took Edward Elric two years to discover a way to return. And we do not know if General Mustang has even been taken to the same place. I will try to reopen the Gate, and hope that he is able to attempt it as well, from the other side. But neither of us really understands the working of these Gates. It is possible that I will not succeed in bringing him back."

She shouldn't have let him stand in this circle alone. She shouldn't have listened to him. She should have been right there at his side. She should have --

"Riza." Havoc squeezed the hand on her shoulder, obviously sensing the maelstrom of self-recrimination swirling through her mind. "Just wait. They'll do this. I'm sure they will." But the unconscious frown drawing his brows together was not comforting.

Riza swallowed her fear and nodded, more to humor him than anything else. She fell silent, hands clenched into fists at her sides, watching intently as Armstrong continued studying the lines of the circle.

Damn Roy Mustang. If he made it back after this, she was going to chain their wrists together. After she'd shot out his other eye.

Al lifted his head slowly, gasping at the soreness where Ed's foot had connected. Trying to get his bearings, he swiveled his head, seeing only milky white ground and shifting black sky. Where was Ed? His fear for his brother struck him in his chest as solidly as a blow. Scrambling to his feet, he began searching frantically.

"Brother, brother where are you?" His cries were deadened, like he was shouting through a blanket. He stumbled through the stark landscape, desperately trying to catch sight of any anomaly. As he half-ran, half-walked, the shifting black skies above him started to wreath faster. Al stopped, looking on mutely as thin threads of inky darkness started dropping from the sky, appearing both fluid and solid by turns. He jerked as he heard a sound behind him, guttural and pain-filled.

"Brother!" Al wasn't sure if that was who the voice belonged to, but he had no doubt Ed wouldn't be far from whoever made it. Whirling, he squinted his eyes, trying to see through the rising mist. Something was condensing out of the blanketing white... a black morass of oily plasm. As the thick substance reared up, then plunged to the ground, a figure stumbled away from it, clutching something to his chest. Whoever the being was, he staggered away as Al ran towards him. Meanwhile, the black bile on the ground seemed to be enveloping something. The tips of two metal fingers protruded from the mass.

"Ed!" Al tried to plunge his fingers into the suppurating feculence, but the oozing mire resisted his attempts. Beyond him, the other figure had dropped to the ground, still clutching something to his chest. Al was too focused on trying to free his brother to really pay attention to the other man, but as the ground around him suddenly shuddered, he looked up quickly... and gasped. A Gate had risen from the ground behind the man.

Staring, Al wasn't aware he'd halted his futile efforts to save Ed until he felt the ooze beneath his fingers suddenly shift and begun rapidly flowing away from him, toward the other man. But the distant man, seeming to ignore everything else around him, had laid his treasured object on the ground.

It was then that Al saw what he had been holding: the outer shell of Ed's arm. And finally, he realized who the other man was.

"A..Al..."

Al's eyes jerked to his brother. Ed was deathly pale, his lips bloodless and his eyes red-rimmed. His gasping breath seemed to be coming at great cost.

"Brother, Brother what's wrong?" Al tried to check Ed for injuries, but stopped as another tremor shook the ground. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, he watched, stricken, as more Gates rose up, towering around them. There were three now, each slightly different from the other in texture and shade. Bond, still ignoring them, placed his hands on the stolen armor, and at last Al absorbed what was happening.

"_**NO!**_"

A thunderclap of blue-white electricity enveloped the other alchemist, casting violent patterns of light on his grinning face. Behind him, the doors to the first Gate began to open. The crawling sludge was almost to the Gate when it suddenly turned, wrapping filmy coils around Bond's legs. Crying out, Bond was thrown to his chest, his curled fingers desperately trying to find purchase on the featureless surface.

Around them, the other Gates also began to open. Al watched open-mouthed as the black ooze began to take on distinct shapes, the closer it got to the first Gate. Bond was still struggling, but seemed to be growing rapidly weaker. His hand reached up, clutching at something buried in his side -- the knife Hughes had thrown. Grasping the hilt, Bond jerked it free in a spatter of blood, and wrenching around he swiped at the thing, or rather, the things that continued pulling him steadily backward.

The knife passed through the creatures as though they were made of water. Finally the short blade fell from Bond's hand and without pause, the creatures pulled him away through the hungry mouth of the Gate. Just before the doors closed on him, Al could hear his tortured scream.

Looking back, Al saw that the other two Gates had continued to open. He also noticed something else. The plating from Ed's arm had been transformed, into a shape Al recognized immediately -- an intricate spider, red lights like eyes, blinking out one by one.

Roy staggered blindly in the darkness, arms sweeping in front of him in the vague hope of finding the Gate. If he could just get himself there, he might have a hope of getting through again. Armstrong was on the other side, and the array was still there. If the other alchemist could reactivate it, there might just be a chance--

But if he got out, what would happen to the brothers? They were still here somewhere, he could feel it. Somewhere behind him -- if "behind" even had a meaning in this non-place. He couldn't just leave without trying to find them and bring them back. Especially if he'd guessed correctly, and there really was something wrong. There hadn't been a repeat of that bone-chilling scream, but the dead silence that had followed it was even more oppressive, and the dread in the pit of his stomach grew heavier as each moment passed.

Now the darkness began to fade, or else his eye was finally adjusting. He gritted his teeth and deliberately stopped flailing around, arms dropping to his sides as he took himself under control. He turned back in the direction that he thought he sensed the brothers, and waited for his sight to become clearer. Not that he waited patiently; he was already getting eye strain from peering into his murky surroundings. He couldn't suppress the sense of urgency that had flowered inside him at the sound of the scream.

The area around him was getting brighter, though. The black he'd first stumbled into had dissipated so much that it was now grey, quickly shading into white. He still couldn't tell if he was in some sort of enclosure or an open space; if there were walls, they weren't discernible, but flowed seamlessly into the...ground?...beneath his feet. Which appeared to give a little, as he moved, as though it weren't entirely solid or had been covered in some thick liquid that hadn't quite dried yet. He kept wanting to lift his feet, to pull his boots away from the stuff, whatever it was. Grimacing, he decided he didn't actually want to know what it was.

Roy began to turn around again, to survey his surroundings when, with a swirl of white smoke, the Gate seemed to loom suddenly out of the mist, like a slab of darkness forcing its way through the wispy white. It towered steeply above, giving the impression of leaning, as though it were about to thunder down upon him. Its doors remained firmly shut, and he had to fight down the urge to rush to it and bang his fists against them, yelling for Armstrong to get him out. Instead, he turned away from it, the need to run and escape dragging at his back like a stone as he turned. If he could keep the Gate directly behind him, he could at least keep his bearings as he peered through the whiteness. Though what good it would do to keep looking into the never-ending white he couldn't imag--

And then with another swirl of mist, they were there, just a short distance away. His heart leaped in joy and plunged in fear almost simultaneously at the sight of Alphonse kneeling at his brother's side, Ed sprawled before him, limbs splayed and still. Roy started toward them, lips parting as he drew breath to call out. But then Al had seen him and began shouting urgently, "Run! General, run! Quickly!"

His steps hitched in confusion, before he followed the boy's desperate glance toward another Gate -- how many of them _were_ there? -- and he gasped at the metal thing that sat before it, lights blinking out ominously, one by one.

He recognized it -- dammit, he _recognized_ it! But it was impossible, it couldn't be here, it couldn't exist! He staggered a couple of steps toward the metal spider, gaping like a fool --

"General, you _have to get away_!" Al screamed frantically, as he pulled Ed into his arms and tried to back away from the deadly thing.

"Alphonse, no!" No! He had to save them, help them, he couldn't lose them now when he'd just found them! Roy whirled back toward the brothers, muscles tightening to spring forward, but it was late, too late, the lights on the spider were blinking out -- the Gate -- the knife -- the boys -- he couldn't reach any of them and there was no time, nothing he could do --

The explosion was blinding, deafening, and it swept toward him in a rush of red flame. He waited for the agony, expected to feel himself shredded into bleeding chunks, but instead the hot, roaring wind picked him up and flung him violently backwards -- between the two dark, looming pillars -- between the doors it had forced open -- through the Gate and into his own world, as a violent boom shook the ground. He landed with a grunt on his back, gasping desperately to breathe in the hot, dry, raging air. Dizzily he lifted himself up on his elbows, trying in vain to reorient himself and sit, hoping still to rush back into the Gate to retrieve the brothers. He heard Riza screaming, and felt Armstrong's big hands at his shoulders, lifting him up.

Then watched in grief and horror as the mists around the closed Gate swirled one last time, and disappeared in a deafening whirlwind, sweeping across the Gate and taking it with them. Roy sat in the middle of a dead array, in the center of the burned-out cellar, and he had failed, failed.

The heat and the pain swept over him in a devastating wave, and he collapsed backward with a groan, limp and unconscious in Armstrong's grasp.

Maes gasped and sobbed, covering his eyes with a dust-coated palm. He could smell the dirt and chalk on his hand, and the stink of blood in the air, hear Ducky's whimpers and Reilly's muffled crying over the rumbling in his ears. Finally he became aware of hands pulling on his shoulders.

"Get your ass in gear, soldier!" someone shouted right next to him as the din grew louder, and it was only then that Maes realized the shaking and roaring wasn't within himself, but all around them.

He struggled and stumbled to his feet on the shifting surface, falling against a solid form that gave way and tumbled under his weight. Scrambling to gain his footing, he yanked Tom up, then he slipped, his hands slapping hard on the sharp, vibrating rocks beneath him, shredding skin and sending a bolt of white-hot agony up his right arm. Grasping his shoulder, he started to get back up and follow the older man, but his right knee gave out in a spark of shooting pain, and he watched the earth race back up to meet him once more.

Reilly caught him before he fell, putting herself under his left shoulder and wrapping an arm about his waist. Clumsily, they staggered and stumbled away from the center of the quake, but were brought up short by a blinding flash that lit the woods around them and washed away the color of everything nearby. In the same instant, a blast of hot air with the force of a hurricane hit them and threw them flat. Daring to look up, knowing he shouldn't, Maes watched a wave-front of light and air scream through the forest, tearing off leaves, snapping branches and trunks of the weaker trees, and bending the larger ones nearly to the ground.

Flipping to his back and sitting up, he watched in horrified fascination as the very air above the spent array shimmered and swirled and began pulsing in waves, the dark center writhing and spinning and growing larger. Maes came to his feet and shambled back toward the opening Gate, slowly at first, then gaining speed, desperately praying that he could jump it before it closed again, his heart aching at the sound of Reilly's anguished cry: _"Maes, no!"_

He skidded to an abrupt halt at the outside ring when an invisible force shoved him back and a deafening concussion slammed into him. Gasping for breath, staggering to regain his footing, he was hit again and thrown off his feet by something more corporeal. Instinctively wrapping his arms around the fleshy cannon ball, he tumbled and rolled, knowing that he had to protect the bundle without yet comprehending _what_ it was.

When Maes finally came to a stop, he turned the body onto its back and quailed. Pale, lips an alarming shade of blue, and flesh ice cold, Edward Elric lay still. Maes leaned down with his ear near the boy's mouth and nose, then shot up and searched for a pulse. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Al clumsily disentangling himself from Reilly, holding his side and stammering an apology.

Then the young man gave the woman a hand up, at the same time turning toward Maes and Ed. Comprehension struck, and the boy stiffened and went white. "Brother?"

Maes gulped and tried to talk through a mouth gone dry. "He... he's not breathing," he croaked.


	37. Ch 27a The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

**"The Shadow Proves the Sunshine"  
Arc One: Chapter 27  
Balance of Power**

**Part One**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

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**August 20, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

Tony Redfeather removed his welding hood and dropped it onto the bench. He wasn't going to get anything useful done today. Not until this whole thing was over with. Stepping out of his workshop, into the bright, late morning sun, he shaded his eyes and peered into the far distance -- in the direction of the Gate and the sacred ground. Today the sky was brilliant blue and crystal clear -- in complete contrast to the gloomy, disturbed mood swirling within him. The place was too far away for him to see, but Redfeather sent a prayer to the ancestors to watch over them all for him.

Behind the old barn and the farmhouse, the woods had sprung up abruptly -- a screen of serenity from the rest of the world, shielding the property from the busy highway a quarter of a mile away, and insulating his home from all but the sounds of nature -- but in front, the prairie stretched out before him. As far as he could gaze, there wasn't a single barrier to block his view, so he had ample time to prepare himself when he saw the rapidly growing black spot come up over the horizon. He recognized the bird by the familiar call that had turned piercing with warning, and watched in horror as a wavefront of blinding light screamed behind the raven, catching him and overtaking him before he could reach the safety of the barn. The bird who had been his son's constant companion was flipped tail over beak in mid-air and tumbled to the ground in a flurry of shredded black feathers.

Redfeather barely had the time to throw a protective arm over his face before the wave crashed into him, lifting him off the ground and slamming him against the wall. It was a double wallop that stole his breath and turned his world black before he returned to earth. When he opened his eyes once more, it was to the sound of thunder beneath him and vibrating dust tickling his nose.

As the tremor faded, Redfeather calmly got to his feet, dusted himself off, and waited. 

_"Brother!"_

Tom crashed to his knees in front of Maes, on the other side of where Ed laid still and pale. "Do you know CPR?"

Maes shook his head, staring blankly at the older man.

"Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation?" Tom demanded. "Can you breathe for him while I keep his heart pumping?"

"Yes. Yes, of course!"

Tom nodded, then straddled Ed's hips and felt around the boy's chest. "Clear his airway and breathe when I tell you to." When he found the spot he wanted, he crossed his hands, palms flat, and pressed.

Tilting Ed's head back, Maes used two fingers to scoop out a sticky, black substance with the consistency of molasses and smelling like a sewer. It rolled up over Ed's lips and dripped down his cheek in a thick trickle...

...and Al's voice grew shrill with terror as he called to his brother over and over.

Tom rhythmically pushed, counting softly, then said, "Breathe."

Maes clamped his mouth over Ed's and forced air filled with fear-laced carbon dioxide down the boy's throat and into his lungs, then listened as Ed's chest fell and the air was exhaled. But he didn't inhale again, and Maes shook his head at Tom, who started chest compressions once more...

**August 20, 1919,  
Risembool, Amestris**

He was burning up, blind, racked with pain -- face, back, chest, arm -- dead? alive? His consciousness surged in and out (mostly out), and each time he surfaced -- minutes? seconds? -- the heat and pain rushed over and through him again. He found himself breathing, short gasps, each accompanied by a sharp, stabbing jolt in his right side. That meant he was alive, at least. But for how long? He barely had time for the thought to form before he felt the dark waters surge up yet again, trying to drown him.

"Roy! Are you all right? Say something! _Roy_!"

Riza's voice, dragging him up from the depths before he could sink further. He gasped again, gritting his teeth at the spasm of pain in his side. She might even be holding his hand, but he wasn't sure. His face hurt, the left cheek damp with hot liquid, as though molten lava flowed from his ruined eye. He was afraid to try to open his good one.

Yet he saw it all again, in a swift montage: the lying and kneeling boys, the Gates, the knife, the bomb. Then the searing flash, the heat, the force, the knives of pain ripping through his body. Knives...

Now Riza again, as though from a distance: "Find a way to get us out of here, Havoc!"

No! They couldn't take him away now, when he'd been so close! He tried to lift a hand in protest, but the pain that shot up the arm and across his chest swept him away yet again in a tidal wave of darkness.

Damn. So close, and then...

Maes lost count of the number of times he'd breathed for Ed, or of how long Tom had been forcing the blood to pump through the kid's heart and into his brain, but his vision was beginning to tunnel and Tom was soaked from the effort. Over and over, Maes kept to the rhythm of breathing when Tom nodded, but each time, no spontaneous gasp would follow.

Behind him, Al sniffled. "Come back, Brother... please," he murmured as Reilly stifled her own sobs and clung to the boy. Heist had finally struggled back to consciousness and cried openly while Ducky talked softly to her, an edge of grief in his own voice.

Maes wanted to reassure them that Ed would be fine in a minute. He was tough after all. He'd fought homunculi, dodged flying wrenches, bested Roy in battle, strutted through Hell, and lived to turn around and thumb his nose at all of it. Edward Elric was the Fullmetal Alchemist, and he was indestructible... he couldn't die... he wouldn't... he couldn't... "Oh god Ed, don't you dare die," Maes whispered and breathed for him again.

The next breath will do it, he told himself every time he heard Ed's lungs deflate. The next one... the next one... _Goddamn you sawed-off, mouthy little shit, breathe!_ He wasn't going to give up, not when the next time he breathed for Ed would be the one that brought him back.

Again, he heard the exhale, then silence... silence that stretched too long. He gazed up at Tom and didn't want to see the look of failure and grief on the older man's face. "Don't stop, dammit--"

"Maes," Tom rasped, "he's gone."

"Ed!" Al wailed. "_No_!"

Maes yanked Tom down to his level by the front of his sweat-soaked shirt and choked, "He's _not_! Don't fucking give up on him now!" He saw pity in the older man's eyes and shoved him back, disgusted. "Fine, you can quit. I'm not," he snapped as he leaned down to breathe for Ed once more.

As he tilted his head to listen, Tom started pressing on Ed's chest again, counting softly.

Three more times Maes forced air into the boy's lungs; three more times Ed exhaled and didn't inhale again. Maes' vision swirled and blurred and the blackness at the edges grew, and he was beginning to come to the same realization as Tom. No amount of effort was going to bring Ed back this time -- the Fullmetal Alchemist was dead.

_Once more,_ Maes thought as his throat tightened. _One last time._ He placed his mouth over Ed's cold, pliant lips, but that final breath refused to leave his lungs. Shaking, tears burning his eyes and splattering on the lenses of his glasses, he laid his forehead against Ed's and sobbed.

Somewhere in the distance he heard Al scream his brother's name and felt the boy fall against him...

...and he felt a twitch beneath his fingertips, then a gasp. The small body under his hands jerked and flailed weakly, and Maes sat up straight as Ed choked and gagged, and _breathed._

"Get him on his side!" Tom yelled.

Maes snapped out of his shock to roll Ed over -- just in time for the boy to vomit out a mass of sticky, black tar onto the ground. Wrapping his arm around Ed's chest and holding his head, Maes made sure he didn't aspirate. When the spasms stopped and Ed was no longer heaving, he gently rolled him back and cradled him.

Ed's lashes lifted, gazing at Maes through gold eyes that were dazed and limpid. "What..."

He broke off to cough again. Al grabbed his brother's hand and the others milled around them, silent, waiting for Ed to speak again, to reassure themselves that he was, in fact, really alive.

"Hughes...?"

"I'm here, Ed." Maes shifted his friend in his arms. "We're here."

Ed slurred, "Wha' the hell... are you doing...?" 

Jean Havoc usually just followed good-naturedly as Roy Mustang led his subordinates through his odd adventures, but when the need arose, the first lieutenant was fully capable of taking charge. Hawkeye, kneeling at the general's side, yelled over her shoulder, "Find a way to get us out of here, Havoc!" but he had already grabbed some of the intact chunks from the upper floor and had begun leaning them against the cellar walls to create something he and the others could climb. The ground still rumbled from the blast and the Gate's disappearance, so he wedged the ends of the wooden chunks as hard as he could into the floor and wall. He only hoped the charred planks were still intact enough at the core to hold some serious weight.

Armstrong couldn't climb them, of course, but he'd get out somehow, bash footholds in the wall if he had to. But the shaking was getting worse -- verging on an actual earthquake, in fact -- and the walls down here were already unstable. They had to get Mustang out before the rest of the cellar collapsed on all of them.

"Good work, Jean." Now Hawkeye stood at his shoulder, as Armstrong carefully got to his feet behind her, cradling their boss against his chest.

Jean grabbed hold of the black wood with both hands. "If you and I go up first," he said briskly, "Armstrong can lift Roy up to us."

"Agreed."

The plank held, thank goodness. Jean skimmed up quickly, bracing his feet at the grassy edge of the hole and reaching a hand down to help Hawkeye up the last step. They both turned, then, toward Armstrong as he lifted Roy's body toward them. But the ground heaved under their feet, and Jean staggered, finally stumbling and going to one knee while Hawkeye crashed into him and would have fallen if she hadn't grabbed his shoulder.

"Riza!" he gasped. "If we kneel -- we can get him--"

She understood immediately, and together they went to their knees near the crumbling edge of the cellar hole. Armstrong spread his feet to buttress himself, and lifted Roy up to them as carefully as possible. They half-dragged, half-carried their superior away from the edge as it crumbled further, a huge chunk of the cellar wall collapsing where they'd knelt just a moment before.

Jean glanced over his shoulder to see Armstrong scrambling up the moist ramp of earth formed by the collapse, feet sinking in dirt almost to the ankles with each step. But immediately, Roy groaned, recapturing his attention. "So close...," the man whispered, "so close..."

"Don't try to talk, sir," Hawkeye admonished quickly. "We'll get you to safety first, and get medical help."

For the first time, Jean got a good look at his boss, his breath catching painfully at the sight of the scorch marks all down the front of Roy's uniform. The forearms were especially blackened, probably when the general managed to cover his face just as the blast -- whatever it had been -- threw him backwards. But even so, the large patch over his left eye had essentially disintegrated, leaving that side of his face bleeding through the tatters, and the ends of his hair singed.

The ground heaved again, a rolling subterranean rumble, and another section of cellar wall gave way with a heavy thump. "Better get out of here," Jean muttered.

"Can you take him?" Hawkeye demanded of Armstrong, who nodded, already bending and sliding his hands under Roy's shoulders and knees. The movement jarred the unconscious man's right arm and he gasped, his eye fluttering open briefly before his head sank back again. Hawkeye rose as Armstrong did, holding the general's arm against his chest to keep it from moving again.

_Damn,_ Jean thought, _maybe broken. I wonder what other injuries he's got?_ But there was no time to stop and check; all the walls of the cellar seemed to be collapsing at once, and the ground even a few feet away wasn't feeling very firm either. "Back to town?" Jean suggested crisply.

Armstrong, now on his feet, gazed over the heads of his companions and murmured, "Probably not, lieutenant. We seem to have help."

And there was Pinako coming across the field, sitting beside another man in a small wagon pulled by a single horse. As the wagon halted beside the tableau of military officers, the woman peered up at the figure in Armstrong's grasp and remarked, "Got himself in trouble, I see. I wondered if he might. You'd better put him in here and I'll have a look at him while we head back to the house. You three will have to walk alongside."

"We shouldn't impose--" Hawkeye began, but the diminutive woman cut her off.

"He'll get as good medical care from me as from any doctor in town, and I'm closer. Now, lie him down in the back."

The sound of Ed's voice, weak as it was, spurred the group into action. Ducky watched with a curious detachment as the scene played out; surrounding noises sounded muted and everyone moved at a sluggish pace that he knew was deceiving, but perceived nonetheless. Tom and Maes huddled around Singer and began working out a plan to get everyone to a safer location. Al kept his brother talking and Reilly stayed close to them both. Ducky wondered if this was what an out-of-body experience felt like. He turned slowly -- _so slowly, what is wrong with me?_ -- to ask Heist if she was feeling the same way.

Apparently, she wasn't. Not ten minutes after nearly dying and then waking up in the middle of an earthquake to Ducky's shouts that she needed to get up and _move_, she was attempting to do just that. With enough speed to jerk his own senses back where they should be, Heist frantically searched her pockets with her good hand, though she listed drunkenly to the side as she did so. Ducky threw an arm around her shoulders to steady her and when she didn't find what she was looking for, she faced him with tears of desperation welling in her eyes.

"Quick, I need your phone!"

Ducky absently pulled it from the cargo pocket of his pants, but paused before he actually handed it over. "Why?"

"There isn't time, Ducks!"

"Unless you're calling a doctor," Ducky swallowed thickly, his eyes darting between the still forms of Ed and Singer, "or a morgue, what could you possibly need a phone for?"

Heist just stared at him with the same look she always gave him when she thought he should know something. His brow knit together and they stood there for a few seconds while he tried to figure out what it was. And then everything clicked, and Ducky nodded once and yelled for Tom.

Al fought down his panic as the motion swirled about him: the Elders who had left them early this morning finally barreling into the clearing in trucks or 4x4's or on foot, carefully gathering up Singer's body, shepherding everyone else into other vehicles. He stood in the center of the noisy maelstrom, helpless to do anything useful, while Tony Redfeather slipped into the back of the nearest 4x4 with Ed held limply on his lap, and another barked quick orders into a cell phone. Al gathered that the man was calling ahead to his wife, or something, telling her to prepare a room for a very sick young man.

The door slammed shut. _They were taking Ed away from him_. And Al could only stand and watch, frozen. Useless to do anything.

And there was Singer -- friend and helper, even mentor -- being laid with gentle care on a blanket in the back of a truck, his chest and arms dark with blood. Two men climbed into the back, to crouch on either side of him and accompany his body on its journey to wherever he was being taken.

_Sing well, my friend,_ the man had said to him. And then died.

_Died._

Al pressed his clenched fists over his mouth as the two companions pulled up the gate at the back of the truck, and he lost sight of the dead man's body. The wave of relief that had swept over him when Ed finally started breathing hadn't subsided at all, but kept rushing through him until it had become a whirlwind of dizziness and nausea. As the ringing in his ears mingled with the surrounding tumult and the shouts of people taking charge and issuing instructions, he wondered if he might be about to collapse.

"Al." A strong arm slid around his shoulders, and he found Maes standing beside him, drawing him close. "Come on, Al, they want you in the Jeep with Ed. He needs you with him." He indicated the second door in the side of the vehicle, still sitting open, with one of last night's Elders motioning the young man to come forward.

"C-come with me," Al stammered, teeth beginning to chatter.

"Of course. Everything's going to be fine," the man reassured him. "Tom!" he called softly to the side. "Make sure Reilly and the kids are right behind us, okay?"

Al peered past Maes to see Tom nodding briskly and drawing Ducky and Heist toward the clearing where the Ninjavan waited. Ducky had an arm tightly around Heist's shoulders, probably to try to help her stabilize after she'd lost so much blood. But neither seemed entirely steady on their feet. Meanwhile, Reilly cast a reassuring smile back at Al and Maes before turning to follow the others.

Al climbed wordlessly into the Elder's vehicle, and anxiously leaned over the back of the seat as Maes slid in beside him. Ed's head lolled a bit on Redfeather's shoulder, but he did manage to force his eyes open, just for a moment, and focus on his brother's face. Recognition sparked briefly into his bleary eyes, and his black-streaked lips moved in the beginning of a smile, but then he was gone again, the breath rattling lightly in his chest as he sank into unconsciousness.

Al sagged back in his seat and pressed his hands over his face.

"He'll be all right, don't worry," Maes tried to reassure him.

But even Maes had given up hope of Ed's recovery, before his brother had miraculously come back to them. The sight had shaken Al almost as much as any of the other cataclysmic events of the day. "I hope you're right," the boy muttered wearily.

"What happened in there?" Maes asked. "Maybe if we knew that, it would help us know how to treat him. And when Llyn gets here, we can give him some direction."

"Llyn? He's coming? How?"

"Heist called him, just as the Elders found us. He'll be on his way shortly, if he isn't already."

"Oh thank goodness! Thank goodness. I didn't know what we were going to do, without being able to get Ed to a hospital."

"He's going to be taken care of, Al, don't worry. We'll get him through this. But now let's try to find some clues about how to help him. What happened when you went through that Gate? And... what happened to Bond?"

Al took a long, careful breath, and tried to take better hold of himself. He couldn't fall apart now, when Ed still needed him. "It's kind of complicated," he answered, marshaling his thoughts. "There were three Gates, and Bond got pulled into one of them. I don't know where he ended up. But before he went through, he managed to grab a panel from Ed's automail arm and make one of his bombs. And when it blew up, it threw us back here."

"Three. There were _three_ Gates? Al," Maes asked eagerly, "did they all lead to home? Do we have that much of a chance to get back?"

Al saw his friend's enthusiasm and hope, and leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. "No," he answered, his voice breaking. "We don't have any chance at all. He blew them up, Maes -- all the Gates were connected and they've been destroyed. There's no way we can go home now."

He heard the stifled gasp of shock and alarm. "No... oh no... that can't be true... not after... all that we've..."

"And there was another thing." Al lifted his head and fixed sober grey eyes on Maes' face. Might as well tell him everything and get it over with. "Just before it blew up -- General Mustang came through one of the Gates. I yelled at him to get away, but he didn't even have time to turn around and run. The bomb -- it blew up right in front of him. I--I don't think he had a chance--" He broke off at the horror and disbelief in his friend's eyes.

"No! Not... Roy," Maes whispered, face ashen. "Roy? Dead...?"

"He might be. I'm so sorry, Maes. I'm sorry for everything." Al bowed his head, once again covering his face with his hands.

Jean reflected that it wasn't often he saw Hawkeye defer to anyone, but she allowed Pinako to take charge of the general, even agreeing to walk beside the wagon rather than trying to get into the back, or oversee things from the seat beside the driver. Still, she wasn't exactly relaxed as they hurried back to the house; her hands clenched into fists at her sides, she continually cast fretful glances through the wagon slats, trying to guess what the older woman was doing. Jean didn't blame her, since he was doing exactly the same thing. Armstrong was luckier, walking on the other side of the wagon; he could easily look right down into it.

Even though the earthquake was finally dying down, the tremors coming less frequently and with less strength, the wagon still jolted now and then on the rough ground, and sometimes they could hear Roy moaning when it did.

At one point, they heard Pinako tell him gruffly, "We're almost there, and I'll get it splinted, so hold on."

_Yep_, Jean thought glumly. _Broken arm._

By the time they arrived at the Rockbell place, Roy was fully conscious, and definitely in pain. He managed to push himself into a sitting position and, after Armstrong helped him out of the wagon, stood on his own feet in the yard in front of the house. But he swayed dangerously as he regarded the front steps looming in front of him, his left hand pressed to his bleeding face. Without a word, Hawkeye gently pulled his hand away and swung his arm around her shoulders to support him on that side, leaving his right arm to hang limply on the other side.

But even then, as he put a foot on the first step and tried to lift himself up, his legs gave out under him and he collapsed forward. If Hawkeye hadn't been there, he would have smashed his face on the upper steps, but even as she caught him, his right arm swung forward to bang into the stairs, and he couldn't prevent a sharp yelp of pain.

"This is ridiculous, sir," Armstrong said gently, stepping to his right side and pulling on his shoulder to lift him back up. "Allow me to take you in quickly, so you can be tended to."

"This is... so undignified," Roy muttered, but allowed himself to be picked up again, his head sagging against the big man's chest as Armstrong once again swept him up.

From that point on, he was taken care of quickly. Pinako directed Armstrong to install him in the room behind the living quarters on the main floor, where she usually worked on automail patients. She asked Jean to help her get the uniform off, and it was a sign of how hurt Roy was that even though he was mostly conscious, he barely objected to being disrobed by his lieutenant and an older woman with whom he was barely acquainted. Once they'd gotten him into a medical gown and into bed, the woman could finally examine him thoroughly.

When she had bound up his injured arm, bandaged his face, and sedated him, she made her report to his three colleagues now waiting anxiously in her kitchen. As she poured each of them a fresh cup of tea, Jean realized that it was still morning, not even close to noon. Hard to believe, he thought, that the whole enterprise today had only taken a couple hours at most. He dragged his attention firmly back to Pinako as she began to list the tally of the man's injuries: his right arm was broken, but not badly, and would heal fairly quickly. The shoulder had also been dislocated, but had been set in place again and taped up, and should be fine even though the muscles around the shoulder would be swollen and sore for a few days. He had at least two cracked ribs. The injuries on his face were relatively superficial; they just looked bad because the area around his left eye was already extra sensitive, and was prone to bleeding easily.

"I can't promise that there aren't internal injuries, especially with those ribs," Pinako added, setting down the teapot and taking her own chair at the table, "but I think it's unlikely. It looks like he shielded himself pretty well, but I'll need to observe him for a few days, to make sure. He'll probably suffer nothing else but some deep bruises. And probably a wrenched back, from the way Lieutenant Havoc told me he landed after the explosion."

"Thank you for doing this for him, Mrs. Rockbell," Hawkeye murmured, hands folded around her teacup. "It's very generous."

"Nonsense, young lady," retorted their host. "This is what I do. I wasn't about to let him suffer that wagon ride all the way into town, when I could help him here."

Jean took a sip of his own tea and shared a relieved glance with Armstrong, across the table from him. It seemed the general was very lucky. Given the force of the blast that had thrown him out of the Gate, Roy appeared to have escaped rather lightly.

And when he woke up, in an hour or two, hopefully he'd be able to tell them exactly what had happened when he was inside, that had produced such devastating results. Above all, Jean wanted very much to know why, all through the examination and bandaging, a half-conscious Roy had continuously whispered, "That knife... what was it doing there... _what was that knife doing there_?"

Ed was breathing a bit better now that the oxygen mask had been affixed securely. Llyn pulled back the boy's lids, and was pleased to see the pupils dilate when he flashed them with his penlight. Putting the light away, he turned his head when he heard soft footsteps enter the room. _Cue the younger brother, eh?_ Llyn wasn't surprised. He wasn't even surprised at the rest of the group surrounding the doorway, all of them expressing some sort of concern for the boy. Fear, sorrow, worry; they were all there, and most prominently in Al's and Reilly's eyes.

"Is... is he going to...?" The small teen's hesitant question brought Llyn's attention back to the second Elric. Al stood with his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he stared past the Welshman and at his brother.

"Aye, he'll be fine." Llyn graced Al with a tender smile and a bit of hair-ruffling. "He just needs some rest, s'all. Why don't y'sit by him while I get myself a bit o' coffee?"

Letting Al take his place by the bed, knowing how the teen wouldn't leave until he was dragged away, Llyn made a 'follow me' gesture to the adults in the group. He'd be sure to tell Al what his findings were as well, but he would do that later, privately. Let the kid be a little less worried about his brother, at least for a few moments.

Alex stood with Havoc in the shadowed doorway of the sick room, watching the debate inside and wondering if he should discreetly disappear. The curtains had been pulled to shut out the late afternoon daylight, but despite the fact that the general should have been sleeping by now, he had summoned all three of his subordinates for some reason. But he wasn't doing very well, and Alex thought he might appreciate one fewer member in the audience.

"You need rest and sleep, Roy, you young fool!" Pinako admonished in exasperation as the general struggled, for the hundredth time, to sit up in the bed. The light of a small lamp on the nightstand created flat circles of light on her face where her glasses sat.

Roy groaned as his cracked ribs protested, then gasped sharply as he jarred his broken arm. Sinking back with a thump against the pillows, he snapped at his caregiver, gasping for breath, "Not that young -- and I've survived worse than this -- so don't go -- giving me orders--" He shut his eye wearily, gritting his teeth against the pain, his head tossing back and forth in the heat of his fever, black tangles of hair plastered to his damp forehead. Hawkeye, barely seated on the edge of her chair in the shadows on the other side of the bed, dug her fingers into the sheets, helpless to ease his distress.

"He looks awful, doesn't he?" Havoc muttered under his breath.

Alex made a noncommittal noise, though secretly he had to agree. Roy had been wandering in and out of delirium for the rest of the day since he'd been brought here, even though Pinako had administered a painkiller and sedative. The general's body had fought and continued to fight almost frantically against the sedative, and the fever wouldn't allow him any peace.

Now it appeared as though his most recent surge of lucidity was beginning to fade again. He sagged a little against the pillows, as a fresh sheen of sweat broke out on his face. He lifted his hand for a moment, vague fingers touching the bandage pad over his left eye, before the arm lost its strength and flopped back down on the blankets. _The poor man,_ Alex thought, not for the first time in his life. _He needs rest... and that's the one thing he never allows himself._ But maybe the sedative was taking hold at last. He certainly needed to sleep. Even in the dim light it was clear that beneath the black fringe of his hair, his face was the color of ash.

But no -- yet again he forced his bleary eye open and flattened his good hand on the mattress, trying to force himself up. Why would he not allow himself to sleep?

"I swear," Pinako muttered, "you have got to be the worst patient I've ever treated."

"Roy," Hawkeye protested. "You have to sleep -- you can't keep doing this."

"Listen," he gasped. "Just let me -- let me tell -- Alex--"

As both Havoc and Hawkeye darted questioning eyes at him, Alex felt his stomach drop in apprehension. _He_ was the reason the general was so agitated? No, not him specifically -- it was him as an alchemist. That was the only explanation. As he watched Roy struggle to get up, and fight to peer down the bed at him, he grew more certain that he'd guessed right.

"General Mustang," he ventured, moving closer to the circle of lamplight so his superior could see him better, "I'll remain here as long as you need me. Whatever you wish to tell me, surely you can do it when you wake up."

"No -- you don't understand--" Roy gasped. "In case I take a turn for the worse -- you have to hear this--"

"Sir, you're going to be fine," Hawkeye insisted.

But if this was what the sick man needed to allow himself to rest, then so be it. "Very well, general," Armstrong nodded. "Tell me quickly. I assume you saw something important within the Gate?"

"Yes. You have to know -- Stealthworks is alive."

Stealthworks! Bond? _Alive?_

Alex gaped at Roy, the breath violently constricting in his massive chest. It was a mistake. It had to be. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Havoc's jaw drop, and Hawkeye was staring at the sick man as though he'd gone insane.

"Sir, that's impossible," Alex countered. "We know he died in that explosion in the north." Of course he had. He had died, and so had... so had...

"No," Roy interrupted, shaking his head vehemently. He collapsed against the pillows again, too weak to hold himself up. But he persisted in his quick account of what he'd seen, as though he could sense his awareness beginning to slip away. "I found the boys... Ed was injured and Al was at his side... but I couldn't get to them... didn't have time..."

"Because of the explosion?" Hawkeye asked.

"Yes... There was a bomb... Alex... it was one of Bond's spider bombs..."

"General," Alex tried to make the point again, "we know he was caught in that explosion four years ago. Do you truly understand what you're saying?"

"Dammit, I _know what I saw_," Roy ground between clenched teeth. "I tell you, this isn't the fever talking. That's why I'm trying to explain while I can. I saw the spider bomb. I don't know anyone else who can create one. I know it sounds impossible, but he's got to be alive. That's the only explanation." Roy's eye widened and he tried yet again to sit up, continuing even more urgently, "And the bomb was in front of another Gate. Maybe he went through it -- maybe he's back in Amestris -- Alex -- you have to watch for him! Promise me!" His eye closed again as he groaned, head moving back and forth on the pillow. "So hot... so hot..."

"I'll watch for him, general," Alex murmured, hardly aware of what he was saying, so violently did his mind reel at this latest news and all its implications.

"This," Havoc muttered at his side, "could be very, very bad."

Alex lowered his gaze. The lieutenant didn't know the half of it. Because if Bond was alive even after that explosion four years ago, then...

Roy moaned as Hawkeye took his hand. "So hot," he whispered. He was beginning to mumble as, finally having delivered his crucial message, he succumbed at last to the delirium. "Danger... such danger... Bond... and I-- I just don't understand... the knife... and the bomb..."

"Armstrong. Buddy, are you all right?"

Alex stared at Havoc, speechless, for a long time before he realized how he was trembling. "Pardon me, lieutenant," he muttered. "Did you say something?"

Havoc lowered his voice. "He sure seems fixated on certain things, whenever his mind starts wandering. Don't you think?"

Alex stood stricken, the breath cut off in his throat. Finally he managed to stammer, "Ex-excuse me, lieutenant Havoc. I need to take some air. I need-- I need to contemplate what the general has said. Excuse me."

He pushed out of the room, fully aware that Havoc was staring after him in bewilderment, but he couldn't worry about that right now. He only hoped the lieutenant didn't decide to follow him. He felt he was going to suffocate if he stayed inside any longer. The Rockbell home was far, far too small to contain the huge problem that had suddenly loomed before his eyes with the general's words.

He stumbled out into the early evening air and the front yard. Hugging his arms across his chest, he gazed out across the road and over the rolling fields of Pinako's neighbors. The sun, beginning to lower itself behind the low hills in the distance, shone into his eyes and forced him to turn away and wander aimlessly around the side of the house toward the work sheds at the far end of the yard behind it. He clasped his hands behind his back, lowering his head as he contemplated what Roy had told him.

Alex had kept secrets from his fellow soldiers before. He had walked a very fine line when he'd been assigned to work with Lieutenant Colonel Archer, for example. He'd been required to keep silent about much of what he'd learned during Archer's investigations. He hadn't even been able to tell Roy the things he'd discovered, though he was trying to help him move forward after Maes Hughes' death.

Hughes' death...

Alex had wrestled with his conscience every day for a year, after the funeral. He had almost broken silence at the funeral itself, watching the grieving of Gracia Hughes and listening to the cries of young Elysia. He'd had to lie to those who loved Hughes the most -- Gracia, Elysia, Roy -- and never betray any hint that he knew the man's grave was empty. No one had suspected or questioned him; any misstep had been interpreted merely as another of his many odd quirks. And yet during the following year he'd stood a hundred times, trembling, on the brink of revelation as he'd observed the subtle, ongoing signs of grief. He had never felt so torn in his life as he had for that interminable year.

And then... the explosion just outside the military post in the Briggs Mountains. He knew Bond had been there, and he'd been absolutely certain that Hughes had been with him. There had been no chance of surviving the blast, for either of them. His fear was all but confirmed as time passed... and passed... and there had never again been any type of communication from Hughes.

Alex had been grief-stricken, and, even worse, had had to conceal his pain from everyone else, who had already lived through their own grief the year before and begun to come to terms with it. But he'd acknowledged, in the privacy of his own guilt, that at least his dilemma was now gone. Maes Hughes really _was_ dead. And although there was still no body in the grave with his name on it, it had finally become a genuine memorial to a dead friend and a man of courage.

Except...

If Roy had interpreted properly the things he'd seen, then Bond was probably alive. Which might actually mean...

And the way Roy kept muttering about "the knife"...

For so many years, in any other context, there would have been only one way to interpret the idea that he found a knife so significant and troubling. One did not obsess over just any blade one saw lying around.

Could it truly be possible? After all this time?

Alex lifted his head and gazed at his own massive shadow, stretching in front of him along the side of the house, through the yard behind it, all the way to the service sheds at the far end. Although he didn't want to allow himself to hope, he just couldn't prevent the small glimmer that began to shine in the most private recesses of his heart.

It would resurrect the old dilemma, certainly. But that would be minor, be negligible, be bearable, if only...

Should he say something now? Was he still bound by the orders given years ago? Where did his loyalties lie?

And would Roy kill him for keeping his silence all this time?

Llyn leaned against a buffet in the dining room just outside the guest bedroom, watching the others. Everyone but Ducky had followed him, settling themselves uneasily. The hacker seemed to prefer his silent vigil over the Elric boys. Whether Ducky was truly that worried about the pair, or just didn't want to hear the details about Ed's infirmities, Llyn wasn't certain, but was content to let it be.

Bringing his attention back to his audience, he noticed that Hughes and Tom had both chosen guarded positions which gave them a clear view of the door and windows, while Reilly and Helene claimed two of the chairs at the table. Rubbing his index finger across his brows, Llyn cleared his throat. "I have 'im stabilized for now, an' have 'im on oxygen. Gave him shots of antibiotics an' steroids, too. He seems to be breathing fairly well, but there's a few things that trouble me."

He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair, looking at the four adults in the room. "The stuff y'say he vomited up, the black filth; it seems he aspirated on it. I can't say what'll 'appen without running a complete workup, but without better treatment, there's always a chance he could develop pneumonia. There is also another problem, though whether or no it's related I can't say." Llyn tugged on his earlobe, the spiderweb of scar tissue along his neck hidden by his hand. "He seems t' have developed a small infection at the points where his prosthetics connect t'his body. That's what th' antibiotics were for, but since I don't know what med allergies he has, I don't wanna overdo it on treatment."

Reilly drew up her shoulders tightly, her head dropping to her bunched fists. She seemed to be searching for words, but it was Tom who broke the silence. "What do we need to do for him? Bearing in mind a hospital is pretty much out of the question for numerous reasons."

Llyn nodded. "Well, you all know he'll need to rest, drink fluids, the like. Once he wakes, I'll better be able t'ascertain what other treatment he'll need. Probably a continued course of antibiotics -- I can write a scrip for cephalexin -- an' maybe even an inhaler, if he has trouble breathin' when he comes to. Shouldn't be anythin' too serious, though. I'm more worried about the infection than anything else."

There seemed nothing more to add to that. The group remained silent, despondent, as they looked anywhere but at each other. Llyn scratched the back of his head, casting about for reassurances. He sensed an atmosphere of helplessness that had nothing to do with the young man in the other room. He'd been given only the barest information when Helene (as much as she preferred to be called Heist, he couldn't force himself to think of her that way) had contacted him. Something of an accident and possible biological contamination... and an explosion. Certainly something had blown up, given the light scorching on both Ed and Al's clothing; not to mention what looked like mild sunburn on both their faces and hands. He sighed. Nothing about this was right... he was missing something extremely vital. More than the injuries to Ed... something fundamental was affecting the entire group.

There was a rustle of cloth, and Reilly stood. Wordlessly she exited the room, and Llyn had no doubt where she was headed. Almost imperceptibly, Tom and Hughes shared a look. The older man followed after Reilly, while Hughes took the spot he'd vacated by the window.

Helene was still hunched into herself, knees pressed together, cradling her bandaged arm. Nodding her way, Llyn approached. "Will you be lettin' me look after that now?" He asked softly, noting the way her cheeks dusted a light rose.

Glancing once more at Hughes as he remained on vigil, she allowed Llyn to help her stand. "It's not... it's probably just... they did a good job..."

Placing a finger over her stammered words, he led her to the bathroom, setting his bag down and ignoring her surprised yelp as he hoisted her onto the sink. "Stretch out your arm then." Tentatively she extended her wrist, flinching just slightly as his fingers caressed the base of her palm, easing back the stained cotton. They had wrapped it well, he noted, if hurriedly. Still, it was doubtful any stitches had been applied, and the risk of infection was high without a shot of antibiotics. Unwinding the bandage, one hand gently cradling the back of her wrist, he slowly revealed the damaged flesh. The edges of the wound were a livid red, swollen and inflamed. The injury itself was penetrating, but appeared to have missed severing the artery. Still, it was deep -- and clearly painful.

"You'll need a wee injection," he murmured, sliding his hand into his case and withdrawing the wrapped syringe. Using his teeth to remove the plastic, and then the cap, he pressed the small shaft against her skin and slid it forward, holding her steady as she whimpered at the minor sting. Spitting the cover from his mouth, withdrawing the needle, he kissed his fingers before pressing them over the small well of blood. "There now... and just one more for the pain." Taking hold of one more syringe, this one a numbing agent, he repeated the same process as before -- though she seemed better prepared this time around, and only winced before relaxing as the point slid out.

Letting her cradle her arm for a moment, Llyn returned to his kit, fishing around until he retrieved his stitching equipment, laying the elements beside him on the counter. Helene was tensing again, and he reached out soothingly, running one hand across her collarbone. "You'll barely feel it, I promise... Just pinch my shoulder if it becomes too much." She smiled a little, placing her free hand on his upper arm as he took her wrist in his fingers once more.

Threading the needle, he caught her eyes with his, waiting until she nodded in readiness. Then, bending over her arm, he gently thrust the needle into her flesh. Predictably, the hand gripping his bicep tightened, but not enough to injure. Not pausing in his work, he pulled the small length through to the other side before plunging it back in again, an endless performance as he gradually tightened the skin back together. It didn't take that long, but she was gasping as he reached the end. Pushing the tip in one last time, he finished the repair, reaching up to slide his thumb across her sweaty brow. "You did well lass." Putting away used equipment, he reached up and helped her down.

Standing close to him, between his body and the counter, she smiled slightly, then leaned in close... almost near enough that he thought she planned to kiss him. But her lips stopped just shy of his own, her breath beating against his cheek as she spoke.

"Thanks..."

Slowly easing back, she turned from him and walked out.

Realizing he'd done all he could for the night, and still pondering what, exactly, had just occurred, Llyn closed the door. If he was going to be staying here for the next several days, he wanted to start the adventure clean.


	38. Ch 27b The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

**"The Shadow Proves the Sunshine"  
Arc One: Chapter 27  
Balance of Power**

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**August 21, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

Al strode along the dusty road with Maes, Reilly, Tom and Ducky as they followed the rest of the mourners who were either on foot or horseback. Llyn had chosen to remain back at Redfeather's house to watch over Ed, and Heist felt it best if she stayed with him, "In case he needs my help," she'd explained, although Al noticed a distinctive blush cross her cheeks when she said that.

At the head of the procession, a single horse pulled the driverless wagon carrying Singer's body in a simple pine casket covered with the American flag. It was led by a man in denims, dusty boots and a feathered headdress -- also on horseback -- and the wagon was flanked by two other riders who were dressed similarly. Many others within the group were just as casual, but there were embellishments -- in hair, around necks, or as part of the clothing they wore -- though none quite as splendid as the three at the front wore. Tom had explained very softly, when Al had looked askance at him, that the three were tribal chiefs.

Riding in the wagon's wake, on a pale buckskin with eagle feathers tied to its harness, was Redfeather -- Singer's father. His face was painted black and his long hair had been cut short, and while he appeared stoic, the glistening trail of tears that left pale streaks down his cheeks spoke eloquently of his grief.

Directly behind Redfeather, five men and two women marched in slow formation -- rifles shouldered and held in crisp, white gloves. The uniforms, dark blue and trimmed in red, were immaculate. The metal buttons sparkled brightly with each measured step, the black boots polished to a high shine, and the bright, white hats, spotless. They issued orders in low tones that were blown away by the hot breeze before they reached Al's ears. "Marines," Redfeather had told the teen when they'd arrived at his house early that morning, and pride had gleamed in his dark eyes.

New arrivals joined the procession as it grew closer to the final destination -- traveling much the same as the rest; there were no motorized vehicles. Many came out of their homes and watched in respectful silence, or from the nearby hills or the side of the road as the line of mourners passed. The only sounds beyond the creaking of the wooden wheels of the wagon, and the _clop-clop_ of hooves, was an occasional soft command from rider to horse in a strange language, or a respectful war whoop from an observer. Even the birds were silent today.

And always... always, an old paint, head hung low, reins dragging the ground and saddle empty, ambled at the very end of the procession.

The three mile journey ended at a low plateau in the middle of a grassy plain, and as the horse and wagon were led to a beam and hide structure in the center, Al marveled at the sheer numbers of people already there. "I never expected Singer to have so many friends," he whispered.

He hadn't noticed that Redfeather had hung back and dismounted, until he swiveled around and nearly slammed into him. The Elder's horse snorted and jerked on the reins, as though offended for his rider, but Redfeather's eyes sparked in amusement. Al, realizing that he'd been heard, stammered, "Uh... not that he _wouldn't_, but he always seemed like a lon-- er... uh..." At that, he just gave up and buried his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. "That came out all wrong," he mumbled.

He felt a warm, strong hand squeeze his shoulder and gazed up to the Elder smiling down at him through his tears. "My son served his nation and was able to travel the world. He met a lot of interesting people and I guess he made quite a few friends along the way." He nodded toward the crowd and added, "But these people? They're family."

Al stared, agog. "That's... a pretty big family."

Redfeather chuckled softly. "You have no idea." Then he turned to catch up with the wagon.

Al felt a presence near him, and glanced over to see Tom, ever-observant, scanning the people who were still gathering on top of the plateau. "Did you have a chance to read anything on Native American culture when you were in Germany?" the older man asked without looking at Al.

"A little," the boy responded.

Tom nodded and said, "Forget everything you learned, son." And with that, he strolled off to join Reilly and Ducky and Maes in the crowd. Not entirely certain of what was expected of him, Al figured the safest bet was to follow Tom's lead...

...Except that a rather large young man, dressed in desert fatigues, blocked his way with one muscular arm. At Al's shocked stare, the soldier shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "This is not your place, Little Wolf."

"But..."

The man jutted his chin indicating the structure in the center of the flattened hilltop and said, "You're expected to join Redfeather at the tipi."

As Al gazed across the wide, exposed space between the people and the tipi, a drumbeat began, and it felt like it was in sync with pounding of his heart. He couldn't imagine why he was supposed to sit next to Redfeather. He'd considered Singer a friend, true, but he'd only known the man for a few months, and not very well, at that. There were people here that the mysterious man had grown up with that surely were closer to him.

Hesitantly crossing the area, he watched as the Marines removed the casket from the wagon and placed it in front of the tipi, then two of the soldiers took their post on either end, beginning a shift that Al had been told would rotate through each soldier for the next two days.

When he reached Redfeather, the older man had already settled on the ground and had to gaze up at him.

"Sir," Al said, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, "I don't understand."

Redfeather gestured for Al to sit next to him, and said, "My son knew for years that there would come a time when he would be called on to serve. He'd spent his life preparing for that day."

"I'm not sure what this has to do with me, though," Al said, as he took the spot on the blanket next to Redfeather. "Shouldn't someone else be here, I mean? His brother, or wife? Someone close to him?"

The older man's lips trembled as he said, "He had no siblings, never married and doesn't have any children." He nodded at the reed flute poking out of Al's shirt pocket. "You're his legacy, Alphonse. Someone who can understand and sense the power that comes from the sacred grounds. He believed in your ability to be able to harness that power, too."

Al's hand automatically touched the flute and his vision started to blur. He hung his head and fought the tightness in his throat, as he whispered, "Then I failed him, sir. I didn't get a chance to learn what I could from him, and now... now... he's dead." Tears fell into his lap, staining the dust coating his jeans dark. "It was because of us that he died. Because Bond followed us and then he killed Singer. If he'd--" Al choked and the words fled him. After a moment, he wiped his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry, so sorry."

"My son died doing what he was meant to do, Alphonse. You didn't make the choice for him, he made it himself." Redfeather lifted Al's chin and said, "My son died bravely."

Al nodded. He knew Redfeather wasn't asking, but he felt it was important to confirm the truth. "Yes, sir. B-bond was the coward."

He gazed down at the flute again, slipping it from his pocket and running his thumb over the fetish of the playful wolf and butterfly on the end. Singer's legacy. How could Al measure up to that? Especially now that Singer was dead and so much important information was no longer available to him. He knew so little! How? How was the flute important? How was he ever going to be able to use it for something other than playing music once in awhile, and was the incident with the bonfire just a fluke? He had no idea how he'd transmuted the flames the way he had, and feared he'd never figure it out. And now? He wasn't even sure he would even be able to attempt it, not when every time he held the instrument to his lips, he'd see Singer's murder committed over and over again.

Al's grip tightened around the flute unconsciously, and a tanned, calloused hand covered his. "Singer showed you the door, Little Wolf," Redfeather said softly, "but you must make the choice to go through it."

Something tugged at the teen's memory... And then it hit him, and he scowled up at the Elder. "Does _everyone_ in this world quote movies?"

"Sometimes the best advice comes from Hollywood," Redfeather said with a wink. Then, sobering, he added, "Singer wouldn't have taught you anything beyond what he has already. It's up to you to find your path."

"But--"

"If you don't continue to try," the Elder interrupted, "if you give up, _then_ you will have failed him."

Al swallowed and nodded briskly. "Y-yes, sir."

The rest of the ceremony continued on with little else said between Al and Redfeather, except for the Elder explaining some of what the younger man was seeing. People approached the casket and left gifts -- beautiful hand-quilted star blankets, dream-catchers, and other things that held significance -- or spoke to the other mourners in a melodious language about Singer while Redfeather softly translated. Old men in uniforms -- some with red-tinted eagle feathers clipped to the backs of their caps -- iron-haired and gnarled, spoke about traditions and history.

And Al absorbed it all voraciously.

As the day wore on, the August heat became unbearable, and several people, dressed in the same desert fatigues as the man who'd sent Al to the tipi, erected tall poles and tied blue tarps to them to provide shade; others made sure that the mourners were given plenty of water.

And every thirty minutes there would be a softly uttered order and the marines would change shifts.

The sun settled low on the horizon and yet more people arrived and spoke, or left their gifts. A fire-pit was filled with wood and set ablaze, and torches around the perimeter were stuck into the ground and ignited, and people continued to arrive. Reilly and Tom and Ducky had eventually returned back to the house, and Maes followed an hour or so later. Al wondered about Brother, but trusted Llyn to send word if something untoward happened. It was merely a waiting game at this point, and he felt he had a duty to stay with Singer as long as he could...

...And still, the drums never silenced, and the marines always rotated on time, and people kept coming up to give their thoughts and wishes and gifts -- so many gifts -- and Al had nothing to give, and little to say.

_Sing well, my friend._

He stared down at the flute once again. Maybe he did have something to offer, after all. "Mr. Redfeather," he asked softly, "would it be improper for me to play for Singer?"

He cast a cautious sideways glance at the Elder, but instead of the disapproval he feared he might receive, he saw something akin to a teacher gazing proudly at a pupil who'd just figured out a difficult equation.

Redfeather waved a hand at the quilts and miniature tipis and dream-catchers and said, "All of these things, the care and love that went into crafting them will travel with my son when his spirit goes to speak with the ancestors, but the _things_ will be given to those who need them." He gazed down at the flute and placed a gentle hand on Al's shoulder. "The music you play, if it comes from your heart and soul, will be an honored and cherished gift that my son will carry with him." A sudden grin split his blackened face, bright white teeth in blinding contrast, as he added, "I'd wondered if you'd think of this."

Al's grin matched Redfeather's as he dipped his head and took a deep breath. He let his eyes slip closed and brought the instrument up to his lips, and let his heart make the music. He recalled the first night he met Singer, although he'd been too ill to realize the man was actually in his room. He thought about how Singer had always managed to frustrate Brother, and the music trilled as he tried to suppress a giggle...

...and as he let his fingers move over the flute, he felt himself slip into an almost dream-state. The drums had never hesitated and the voices of so many people speaking in their own language washed over him, and he hadn't even felt Redfeather shifting against him as he stood. It was only when the drums went silent that he noticed the Elder was now standing next to the casket.

Al stopped and lowered the flute out of respect, but Redfeather shook his head slightly. Understanding what the older man wanted, Al returned to playing, soft and low.

In English, Redfeather spoke: "Soon, my son will enter the spirit world and I would like to give him an Indian name, because this is how the ancestors will know him. His name is _Wah-yahng Nah-zjee Wah-nah-ghee-yah-dah_." The Elder gazed at Al and translated, "Stands-Watching-the-Spiritland. Guardian of the Sacred Doors. Even from the other side, he will continue to protect them." Then, Redfeather turned to the open casket and laid an eagle feather on Singer's chest.

And it was that moment that _who_ Singer had been became clear to Al. He'd wondered why the man had seemed so interested in him and Brother. He thought he knew -- thought it was as a protector of _them_. While that was part of the truth, it wasn't all Singer was watching over -- he was duty-bound to protect his own world, and helping the two of them was a part of that.

Singer wasn't an ordinary soldier, but a warrior of the sort Al had only read about in myth. If he had been guarding the Gates, then he had to know where they were, and in order to know this, he had to be able to see and 'feel' them. Reilly had a similar sense, but she used maps and theories and computers to locate them -- Singer had used none of those things.

As Al continued to play, the marines moved his friend's casket into the tipi. The time was drawing near that his spirit would speak with the ancestors, the wake was nearly over. The mourners and friends and family would still speak and leave gifts, and soon they'd be given to the needy. Once the casket was placed inside the tipi, the marines emerged and took posts outside; their vigil would continue on.

The rich, somber notes from the flute seemed to reflect his new understanding without conscious effort on Al's part -- growing and swelling into something almost tangible as it rose into the warm summer night. It wove through the thinning crowd and caressed the marines standing watch over Singer's body, and told a story in a language without words, of the warrior who had given his life to protect three strangers and two worlds...

...and Al felt a part of his own soul carried up with the music -- to join Singer; to speak with the ancestors.

_We celebrate his life,_ he thought he heard Redfeather say, although it sounded so far away. _He was just visiting this world, like we all are, and now he is going home. The time to weep for him will soon pass, and the time to take joy in what he left for us all has come._

Al remained immersed in the music until he became aware of a sense of waiting, like the world had suddenly held its breath in anticipation. The very air around him tightened and pulled at him, yanking him back into his own body, and he slowly opened his eyes. A hushed murmur floated through the crowd, with everyone staring toward the tipi, rapt, and he heard one of the marines behind him whisper in awe, "Holy shit." Coming abruptly to his feet, Al twisted around to see what the subdued commotion was all about... and forgot how to breathe for a moment.

From the opening at the top of the thirty foot tall structure, sparkles of bright, indigo light rose up and swirled. Like a lazy cyclone, they spun and coalesced and then took a different form altogether. Two sparkling points, like the arms of a distant galaxy, emerged and grew and spread into wings. Other points, smaller than the first, appeared and became an obvious beak and tail-feathers. There was an eternity during which the ethereal raven seemed to just hover over the tipi, frozen in flight... then with a downward flap of its great wings, it soared up into the night, and disappeared.

Suddenly, time snapped back into place, and Al heard everyone chattering at once -- and Redfeather turned to stare at him in wonderment...

...and Al stared down at the flute.

**August 22, 1919  
Risembool, Amestris**

Jean stood in the doorway of the sick room, night robe hugged around himself as he shivered. The scene was eerily similar to what he'd seen the first day Roy had been brought here: the room in darkness except for the lamp on the nightstand, casting its light over Pinako, sitting on one side of the bed, bathing Roy's face with a damp cloth. Riza, again seated on the other side, held his clutching hand between her own. The pain had obviously broken through the painkillers, and his bandaged head tossed back and forth as he moaned in his delirium.

They'd heard him from upstairs, in the rooms Pinako had given them the day before yesterday to sleep in while they waited for the general to heal. (Riza had Winry's old room, and Jean presumed he'd been put in her parents' former bedroom. Armstrong slept in the family room, where two couches had been shoved together; they could hear him down the hall, snoring softly.) Jean and Riza had met in the upstairs hallway and rushed down to find Pinako already seated at Roy's bedside, trying to administer another sedative. But it wasn't until Riza sat on the bed beside him and slid an arm under his shoulders to lift him up that the older woman could get him to swallow a spoonful of the medicine. He had leaned against Riza, barely conscious, but had managed to take the spoon in his mouth and swallow the liquid.

Now they waited for it to take hold, and in the meantime, he couldn't seem to get comfortable. He'd been going in and out like this for almost two days now, sometimes lucid and coherent enough to tell them more of what he'd seen on the other side of the Gate, and at other times sinking into unconsciousness or even a delirium like this one.

"It's just a bit of light fever this time," Pinako murmured, squeezing the cloth once more over the bowl of water on the side table before smoothing it along Roy's cheek again. "He should calm down once the sedative takes effect."

But Jean wasn't entirely sure. Roy kept muttering under his breath, words slurring, and he frowned as his mind struggled against the peace promised by the sedative.

"I wish he could just rest," Riza fretted, biting her lip. "Just once in his life, let himself rest--"

The sick man cut her off with a strident cry, "_No!_" He emitted a sharp gasp and suddenly sat up, eye flying open as he stared at Jean, seeing something else entirely.

Jean stepped to the end of the bed. "Roy, calm down. What is it?"

But Roy was already sinking back against Riza as she put her arms around him and helped lower him back to the mattress. "He -- the bastard's dead," he whispered faintly. "I know he's dead. I just don't understand..."

Riza laid his head gently back on the pillow. "He's thinking of Bond," she frowned. "After seeing that spider bomb..."

But Jean wasn't so sure, watching Pinako stroking the boss's face yet again with the cool cloth, a little worm of doubt curled up tightly in his gut. He'd been staring Roy directly in the face as the man had jerked up, gazing internally at the thing that had robbed him of rest for two days. And Jean was certain that thinking of the Stealthworks Alchemist would never have brought tears into the boss's eye.

**August 23, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

He started to stretch, and groaned when his neck muscle suddenly tightened in pain. He would have brought a hand up to massage the outraged tissue, but his arm refused to cooperate; and in confusion, he opened his eyes. He couldn't see. His breathing sped up for a second, until he saw the vague outline of a shape... the fluffy top of a head, cast in shadow and slumped over his left arm. Okay, the lights were off, it was night, and he wasn't paralyzed -- just a pillow. Good to have those immediate questions answered.

Of course, his neck still burned.

Rather than disturb Al, he opted for the next best appendage and tried to raise his right arm. That one wouldn't move either -- and this time there wasn't an unconscious teenager holding it hostage. Startled, Ed squinted towards the automail, shifting his body a little to try and pull it into the diffuse light barely filtering through the window. His arm was gone. Perfect. Did he pass out during the ceremony or something? Must have forgotten to reattach...

Ed gasped.

They'd been in the Gate... Bond... Hughes' knife... but... but what happened? He looked around again, but the darkness obscured the features of the room he occupied. But he had to know...

"A...Al..." His voice sounded terrible! High-pitched and scratchy, it barely cleared his throat. But it was enough to rouse his younger brother.

The younger kid raised his head wearily, sending tingles of sensation rushing back through the limb his head had been resting on. As his eyes lifted, he appeared to waken suddenly. "Ed!" Al lunged forward, wrapping his brother in an awkward hug. Ed's single arm wasn't up to the task of movement yet, but he did manage to curl his fingers and tap at Al's side in the parody of a comforting embrace. After a moment, the younger brother sat back, one hand still resting on Ed's midsection. "Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need some water?"

The prattle of questions made him squeeze his eyes shut again. "Al..."

"Does your throat hurt? How about your chest? Can you breathe okay?"

"AL!" Okay, that did hurt. His throat burned at the sudden exclamation, but it did make Al grind to a stop, his eyes too wide... not in hurt or shock, but with something else, something... and Ed was overcome with sudden grief.

"We... we didn't make it. Did we?" It wasn't a question; the look in Al's eyes had been enough to confirm that without words. Rolling his body away from the room, Ed raised his still tingling arm to wrap it around his midsection, leaving Al to clutch his own hands in his lap, silent, and radiating the same sense of hopelessness.


	39. Ch 27c The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

**"The Shadow Proves the Sunshine"  
Arc One: Chapter 27  
Balance of Power**

**Part Three**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**August 25, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

After Singer's ceremony, Ducky decided it was high time for a spring cleaning of the ninjavan. Redfeather had graciously offered a section of his workshop for him to store the mound of computer components, makeshift luggage, and unidentifiable detritus he'd unearthed from the van. For the most part, Ducky spent his free time there, sorting and organizing and who knew what else -- he didn't really know. He did know that if he stayed in the house with the rest of the group, all he'd end up doing would be worrying about Ed's health, Al's psyche, and Maes' sanity. Not that he didn't anyway, but it was slightly easier to pretend not to care when he wasn't looking directly at them. Either that or he would be endlessly teasing Heist and Llyn on principle, like he did with all of Heist's romantic interests. Somehow he didn't think that would go over well with the weight of the current situation.

Ducky resorted, then, to cranking the volume up on his most upbeat playlist -- the one nobody, not even Heist, knew about -- and letting the mind-numbing chore of testing the computers and other spare parts do its work. No one really bothered him, to his great relief; uninterrupted, he made great progress, and he was happy to discover the Rube Goldbergian case he'd installed under the back seat (using spare scraps from Redfeather's supplies) had done its job. The majority of the computer components, as well as the laptops, had survived the Gate-blast.

On his second day of sorting, the Elder entered the workshop with Al following close behind, looking as he normally did these days, small and alone. He was carrying Ed's automail. Redfeather showed him to an empty work table and rustled up a tool box and some clean towels. Ducky paused in his work, popping out his headphones to hear the quiet conversation at the other end of the room.

"Are you sure you don't need an extra hand, son?"

"Thank you, sir, but I've got it from here. I appreciate you letting me use your supplies."

"Of course."

The Elder left Al at the table, nodding at Ducky as he passed on his way out. Ducky replaced his headphones; the sounds of 'N Synch drowning out the rest of the world (_"Might sound crazy, but it ain't no lie... Baby, bye, bye, bye..."_).

_Kid's polite to a fault_, he thought as he picked up his final unsorted box. _No wonder Ed's so abrasive sometimes; his brother inherited all the charm._

When Ducky added the last box to the neat stack waiting to be loaded back into the van, the sky was darkening outside the workshop windows with the threat of an impending rainstorm. He turned off his mp3 player and pulled out his headphones with a satisfying flourish, only to hear the irregular sounds of suppressed crying.

Ducky picked his way through the garage, taking care not to bump any of the Elder's creations along the way, and managed to emerge by Al's table relatively quietly. Something must have caught the kid's attention anyway because he looked up from where he had buried his head in his hands. Al hastily wiped at his eyes; the action deposited a smear of black across his nose. When the Gate had kicked Ed and Al out, both had been covered with residue of what Al said had enveloped Bond and Ed. Soap and water and a little scrubbing took care of it on skin but, like the latex adhesive fiasco of so many months ago, releasing the slick stuff's hold on metal was proving to be anything but easy. It looked like Al had tried cleaning the shin plate of Ed's leg, but from the grimy state of the towels and his hands, and the still-black streaked metal, the endeavor had been unsuccessful.

"Hey, Ducky," Al greeted him unevenly.

"Hey, man. You want some company?"

Al regarded him for a moment before nodding. Ducky pulled an upended barrel over to sit on, and waited while Al controlled a few last sniffles.

"These are going to kill my brother," Al said flatly, gesturing to the limbs on the table. Seeing Ducky's startled expression, he amended quickly, "Oh! Not anytime soon... but automail's so hard on Ed, you know, the rest of him. We've been maintaining it as best we can, but we're not automail experts. He does a good job at hiding when it bothers him, though I can tell..." Al let his voice trail off as he rubbed at one of the shin plate's dirty spots.

"Winry built these for Ed when he went through the Gate the first time," he continued. "No measurements, no models -- she didn't even ask to measure me for reference. She just had them ready for when Ed came back." Al's eyes welled with a fresh wave of tears. "We took her for granted. She was always _there_ back then. But she's not _here_, and we're not getting home and now Ed's arm is busted and his leg's not working right because of all this -- this _Gate goo_ -- and I can't even get the stupid things clean enough to see if they can be fixed!"

And suddenly things got a little clearer. Ducky and the others had figured Al's recent low was due to how close they had been to losing Ed. Thanks to Llyn, that danger was over and yet Al's attitude had not rebounded. They had spent so long living day to day -- hour by hour -- it was hard to get out of that mindset. But Al had already been looking past his brother's current condition to some time further ahead when Ed had recovered. Recovered to face a quality of life that, judging from the state of the two precious pieces on the table, was going to be drastically lower than before.

Ducky rested a hand on Al's shoulder and the kid leaned into the touch, finding comfort in the gesture. Ducky decided then and there that he would bring Al's mood up before Ed saw him like this. "Well," he said lightly, "your brother doesn't need another reason to complain, so why don't we try to get these things cleaned up before he's well enough to use them?"

Al looked at him doubtfully.

"What? Ed didn't tell you that I helped fix his arm before we found you?"

"Yeah... and Reilly said you nearly threw up on her afterwards."

Ducky shrugged. He'd forgotten about that. Or, more likely, had suppressed it from his memory. "She interrupted the taming of my gag reflex."

At that, Al finally cracked a smile. It was a start, but he'd take it.

Al left the garage in a better mood than he'd felt in a long while. Ed's automail was as clean as it was going to get for the time being, and he and Ducky had managed to get the major joints working smoother as well. Al offered to help Ducky repack his van afterwards, a small thanks that Ducky declared unnecessary, but he offered to introduce Al to Astaroth later, whoever that was.

Al didn't see any light under the crack of Ed's door when he went to return the automail, so he entered quietly so as not to wake him. Not that he had to worry; Ed was sitting up in his bed, headphones on, staring intently into the shadows.

"Brother?"

Caught completely unaware, Ed nearly jumped off the bed. He yanked off the headphones almost guiltily, the soothing sounds of a familiar abstract melody audible for a split second before he turned off the music player.

"Brother, you're supposed to be sleeping," Al chided, setting Ed's automail on the dresser.

"All I've done for the past few days is sleep," Ed muttered. "I'm going crazy here."

"Llyn said the more you rest, the faster you'll get better."

Grumbling, Ed rubbed at his exposed shoulder port a moment before flinging his arm wide. "What do you call this?"

"Not sleeping." Al had argued this topic more than he cared to think about, and it wasn't worth yet another discussion. He leaned over to fluff Ed's pillows and change the subject. "Good news. Ducky and I managed to clean up your automail."

"Ducky?" Ed snorted, leaning back once Al had finished. "How many times did he pass out?"

"None, actually, though I thought he was going to when we were working on your leg." Al sat on the edge of the bed and fiddled with the ends of Ed's hair. "He started telling me all these stories about his family. They sound just as crazy as him. You know, his grandfather doesn't live that far from here. He's thinking about stopping in for a visit." Al waited for some sort of response, but it didn't come. His brother once again had a faraway look in his eyes. "Ed?"

"Hmmm?"

"Were you even listening?"

Ed frowned. "Sorry, Al, I'm a little distracted."

"Distracted? About what?" Al whispered. There was only one thing he could be thinking about.

"About what happened. Why it didn't work." Ed pushed himself upright, an urgency creeping into his voice. "Al, what if Singer was right? What if we didn't need an array?"

"But you said--"

"Maybe I was wrong."

Al's jaw hung open until Ed gave him a little shove. "Oh, come on, Al. It wouldn't be the first time. Look, Singer said we didn't need an array. Arrays need blood -- they need _sacrifice_. If there's a way to bypass the array, it might also be possible to bypass the sacrifice."

"But alchemy without circles is nearly impossible here."

"Not alchemy. Something else."

"What?"

"I don't know yet... but Singer wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean for us to figure it out. Help me think about it, will ya?"

"Of course, Brother."

Ed yawned and flopped back on the bed. "Sleeping doesn't sound like a bad idea after all."

**August 28, 1919  
Risembool, Amestris**

Roy sat propped against a mound of pillows, left knee up, pressing a clipboard against it as he made awkward notes with his left hand. From time to time he consulted a couple of open books laid along his flat right leg and beside him on the mattress, his useless right arm hanging in its sling against his chest.

The curtains had been open all day, and after changing the sheets and letting him wash up a little, Pinako had propped the window open as well, to let in some fresh air. He'd managed to stagger into the front room to make a couple of calls to Central about four days ago, but his head had only really cleared for good, just yesterday. So he'd sent his subordinates to his lodgings in town to bring him all the materials he'd left there a week and a half ago. Once he'd settled back into bed this morning, he'd decided to go back over all the ground he'd already covered, to see if he'd missed something in his previous research. To see if there might be another way to accomplish what he'd been trying to do a few days ago in that crumbling cellar.

He'd been so close! And he'd been _right_ -- the boys had been trying to get home, had gotten into the Gate from their side, into that no-place between worlds. If he could just have grabbed them at that moment, to drag them through his own Gate, they might be safe now. They'd be home. And it would be Ed in this bed, while Pinako took care of whatever had been wrong with him.

Instead... that bomb. That impossible, incredible bomb that couldn't possibly exist had wounded him, possibly killed the brothers, and destroyed whatever chance they'd had of getting home. At least... it might have killed the boys, but he just couldn't make himself believe it. He was sure, somehow, that they were still alive. Hence his continued study of this problem.

Roy let the clipboard slide to his lap as he set his elbow on the upraised knee and gingerly leaned his head against his hand. His fingers moved against the fabric that wrapped around his ruined eye and half-covered his head. One of Winry's old bandanas, as it turned out. He wondered what she'd think if she knew. He'd left his spares back in Central when he'd come here; he would certainly never do that again.

A brisk tapping at the door jerked his head back up, as Hawkeye stepped into the room with Havoc following close behind. Each of them carried a box, Havoc setting his unopened parcel on a chair while Hawkeye put her already-opened box on the small table beside the bed.

"Is that everything I asked for?" Roy questioned.

"It seems so," Havoc nodded. "Scieszka boxed it all up when the records people pulled it from the files, and when I called her she seemed to think everything was accounted for."

"I took the liberty of examining some of the contents, sir, while we were in the wagon," Hawkeye informed him, indicating the parcel she'd carried. "The records about the Stealthworks Alchemist's death are right at the top, in this box."

"His disappearance," Roy corrected her. "He was presumed dead in the explosion, wasn't he? But they never found a body?"

"That's right, sir. The explosion was so intense that the investigators concluded that no one could have survived. And his body would have been almost vaporized, which was why they never found it."

"Or they never found it because maybe there wasn't 'a body' at all," he mused, picking up his pen again and tapping it absently against his pursed lips.

Havoc pulled a second chair away from the wall and turned it around, straddling it with his chin resting on the back. "So you're sure that was one of his bombs you saw inside the Gate?"

"Perfectly sure," Roy nodded. "Once you see one of those spider contraptions of his, you don't forget. If it wasn't his work, it was created by someone who's a brilliant copyist."

"And yet," Hawkeye protested, "he was seen just south of the Briggs mountains, outside the military outpost, right in the vicinity of explosion just seconds before it happened. He couldn't possibly have survived; everyone who was there confirms that."

"Yes," Roy nodded again, still tapping. "I know." Another thought occurred to him. "Havoc. Did Scieszka have any other news to pass along?"

"Funny you should ask, boss. We already knew there'd been a few earthquakes in other parts of the country, at the same time as the one here. But she made a special point of asking me to tell you that there was another one we hadn't heard about, out in Rush Valley. It happened just a little later than all the others, and she thought it might interest you. She said to tell you it was because it was 'out of sync', and might be important."

Rush Valley!

Roy sat up straighter and leaned down, but couldn't quite reach his other pile of books at the very end of the bed. "Havoc, remind me to recommend a promotion for Scieszka. Now pass me the books -- no, actually, just that one in the middle, the thick one with the blue cover -- thanks." He let the clipboard slide to the mattress, and set the new book on his lap, quickly flipping through the pages with his left hand. "Rush Valley... Rush Valley...," he muttered. "I know it was mentioned... and it didn't synchronize with the others..."

"I see you're still not letting yourself rest properly," Pinako interrupted from the doorway.

Roy leaned back against his pillows and smiled. "Well," he defended himself, "it's not like I'm using my right arm. That's getting plenty of rest." He used his left hand to pat the arm, lightly, in emphasis.

"You'd use it if you could, whether it was healed or not," the diminutive woman retorted, a glimmer of humor in her eyes.

"You already know me better than I like," he chuckled.

"I have to admit, though," she added, coming closer until she stood at his side, "you've got better color in your cheeks than I've seen there in several days." She crossed her arms,examining his face with narrowed eyes.

Roy thoughtfully ran his hand over the bandana again. Winry's bandana. He smiled again, and remarked to her grandmother, "I do feel better, Pinako. I've just gotten some good news, and I feel better than I have ever since the Gate blew up."

**August 30, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

Maes paused just outside the doorway of Ed's room, to find the two brothers sitting up in the bed, heads bent over one of the laptop computers. He'd found them this way more than a few times in the last couple of days, but they'd always put the top down and immediately engaged him in some meandering conversation before he could ask what they were doing.

He couldn't stand the looks on their faces, or the way everyone was tiptoeing around him since the failed attempt to go through the Gate. By now, they all knew that the Gates had been blown to bits by the monster's spider bomb. And every time Maes walked into a room, it seemed, they looked at him with _pity_. He'd almost bitten off Reilly's head this morning when she'd tried to commiserate with him. He felt like a complete jerk, and had apologized later, but he just couldn't stand the way everyone felt so bad for him.

Even more, he couldn't stand the fact that they had good reason to pity him. He'd done his part in the days since the disaster, helping to keep watch; from what Amber had said when Llyn had called her, the Feds were still very interested in them, so they had to be ceaselessly vigilant while Ed healed. That had given Maes something important to concentrate on. And of course, his spirits lifted somewhat with every day that Ed got better.

But nothing changed the fact that he had been so completely focused on getting home that now, when there was no more hope of it, he wasn't sure he could bear the sort of life that faced him instead. And then there was that other thing, that Al had told nobody but him. Roy...

The brothers hadn't seen him yet. Al straightened up, pulling the flute out of his pocket. "I just don't know, Ed," he grimaced. "It's right in the middle of nowhere, right inside that ravine. And even if we can get there, I don't know what we can do. I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something." He ran a hand possessively along the flute before putting it to his lips and wiggling his fingers on it to limber them up. His eyes half-closed, he seemed more relaxed than Maes had seen him for a long time.

Ed leaned back against his pillows, his flesh arm bent behind his head as he gazed in contemplation at the ceiling. He smiled a little as his brother began to play a few experimental strains.

"At least it's something, Al. We've found one Gate that wasn't connected to the others in the chain. We can figure out how to get there, somehow."

"That's just the first part of the problem," Al took a brief moment to remind him, before pursing his lips and starting to play again. At first the music was jerky and tentative, but as he closed his eyes completely, the tension almost visibly draining from him, it seemed to gain strength. The tune was nothing that Maes recognized, though, soft and high and a little bit wistful. He wondered which world it came from, or whether Al was discovering it as he went along.

Ed watched him for a few moments, distracted from his usual intense concentration, eyes softened as he regarded his brother's face. He smiled again. "Remember what happened at the party, Al? Back at the Branches' place?" At Al's questioning glance above the flute, he elaborated, "By the bonfire. Remember? What happened to the fire when you... played the flute and we... saw...?" His voice trailed off as Al stopped playing. Their eyes met in the silence.

Al lowered the instrument, holding it across his palms. "And at the wake...," he said, staring at it as though he'd never seen it before. "Singer...," he whispered. Again their eyes met. And this time, all the Elric intensity had returned, blazing from both sets of eyes, gold and grey.

Maes turned blindly away from the door and almost bumped into Llyn, who had come up behind to peer at the boys around his shoulder. Maes brushed past the younger man, but as he pushed his way down the hall and out a side door to a little porch, he wasn't surprised to be followed. He leaned his hands against the wooden railing, head bent. "What do you want?" he demanded wearily.

"What were the boys talkin' about in there?"

"What do you think? They're plotting. I had a feeling it had started again. I think they've convinced themselves they've found another Gate to try to go through."

"And you don't believe it'll work?" Llyn crossed his arms and turned to lean backwards against the rail, watching his companion curiously. Behind him, across the clearing in which the house stood, the shadows of the forest served as a backdrop to his casual pose.

Maes swallowed, closing his eyes. "I don't know what I believe," he murmured. "They're a little bit crazy, I think. They're exhausting. They just -- just never let it go. They never give up."

"And you have, then?"

For a long time, he couldn't answer. At last he sighed, "Isn't that the logical thing to do, at this point?"

"Logic. My friend, after what I've seen with those boys, and the stories I've heard the last few days, I'm thinkin' there's a bit more to the world -- mine or yours -- than just the logic."

"And if I hope again? And it turns out even worse?" Maes cast a sidelong glance at his companion, then turned away. There was that look again, dammit. But he couldn't stop himself, even so. "We've... already lost two people trying to go through a Gate, Llyn. And almost lost Ed. I don't know what I'll do if they try again and I lose them too. I... don't think I can take any more of this."

Llyn straightened up, hands falling to his sides. "Lost _two_ people?" he repeated. "I know about Singer, but I'm thinkin' you can't mean that accursed Bond character is the other. Ye'd never look like this, from losin' him. Maes -- what happened? Who do you mean? Who else did you lose?"

Another long silence, until, "Al told me something that he hasn't mentioned to the others. Do you remember that friend I told you about, back home? Roy? Al said he was there. Inside the Gate. When the bomb went off." Maes removed his glasses with one hand, pressing the heel of the other to his forehead. The sting of tears burned under his eyelids. "He... he's probably dead."

His head jerked up at the rough grip on his shoulder, as Llyn pulled him roughly around to face him. "Maes -- my god, man, are ye totally _daft_?" the other cried, sounding an awful lot like his adopted father at that moment.

"What -- what do you mean?" Maes faltered, absently sliding his glasses back on.

"I mean ye can't go on not knowin' something that important. How can ye _not_ try again, if it means knowin' for sure about your friend, one way or t'other?"

"You just don't understand. We could all be killed, going off on another insane--"

"Then _be_ killed!" Llyn retorted. Maes gaped at him as he went on relentlessly, "Ye're walkin' in our world like a livin' corpse already. Isn't it better to die _trying_ -- or maybe not die and actually make it back home -- than to stay here in y'r current state? Maes, you've got to try again, if the boys've really found a way. In fact, I think if you don't, I may shoot you myself, t'put you out of your misery."

The two men stared at each other for a long, intense moment, Llyn's dark, urgent eyes glaring into Maes's doubtful green ones as though trying to convince him by sheer force of will. For one wild moment, Maes felt as though some distant Mustang cousin had accosted him across worlds, threatening bodily harm if he refused to search for the truth about Roy's fate. In fact it was just the sort of threat, he thought, a little hysterically, that Roy himself might make at such a moment.

Maes pulled out of the other's grasp and leaned his hands once again on the rail. He couldn't prevent the laughter starting to bubble out of him. He felt as though an over-stretched membrane had suddenly snapped, leaving him a little giddy. "Llyn, ol' buddy," he remarked, "if Roy's alive, I'm going to tell him he's got a relative in this world who could give him a real run for his money in the stubbornness department."

"Then... you're going. You'll try it again?"

"I've got your gun to my head," Maes cast him a sideways smirk. "How could I dare not to?"

**September 3, 2006**

"So what I think happened," Ed continued, "is that this Gate was probably spared in the explosion. Which means that if we can get it open, we have one more chance to go through."

Al smiled a little, watching him hold forth, sitting up against his pillows as though they were a throne, with the others gathered around the bed like courtiers. Under the covers, Ed's metal leg was bent up so he could clasp his hands around it on top of the blankets. If the pain of his infection still bothered him, it wasn't showing at the moment, so engrossed was he in his subject.

Al himself sat just to one side of the pillows, leaning an elbow on the massed pile, to his brother's left. Maes and Tom stood sentry at the bedroom door and window as usual, while Reilly claimed one corner of the bed, and Ducky and Heist had dragged in a couple of chairs from the kitchen. Llyn leaned against a wall beside Maes, hands in his pockets. Al had noticed him chatting with Maes rather a lot the last couple of days, actually. When he wasn't following Heist around, at least.

Reilly sat cross-legged, chin on hands, regarding Ed soberly. "You're sure about this?" she asked now. "Sorry to throw cold water on everything, but are you really sure this isn't just wishful thinking?"

Ed cast his brother a wry smile. "Not completely sure," he admitted. "But the map suggests that it was -- what did you call it, Ducky?"

"Off the grid," the other supplied. He stuck his feet on the edge of the bed and slowly lifted his chair's front legs off the ground, rocking absently back and forth. "And then," he added, "there's the earthquake data I looked up for you."

"Right," Ed nodded. "All the other leyline intersections experienced small earthquakes when our Gates exploded. But not this one. So we think we'd better give it a try, just in case."

Heist cleared her throat gingerly, and Llyn's eyes instantly flew to her face. Al smiled to himself. "Don't you still have a problem, though?" she ventured.

They all knew immediately what she meant. Ed hesitated, staring awkwardly at his hands. He still didn't quite know how to be, around her. Al saw Ducky's jaw clench, and decided to rescue his brother. "We think there's a way to get through it without a circle," he put in softly. "And definitely without a sacrifice."

Someone's cell began twittering, but even as half the people in the room sat up and started glancing around, wondering where they'd left their phones, Tom pulled his out of a hip pocket. "Relax," he told them as he flipped it open, leaving the window and heading for the door. "I'll just take this outside. Carry on."

As he departed, Maes automatically moved to replace him at the window, glancing cautiously out. Llyn, in his turn, moved to where Maes had been standing, just beside the door. He learned quickly, Al reflected.

"So you think you can cross over without a circle," Reilly picked up what Al had been saying before the interruption, "and even without a sacrifice. How do you propose to do that? You'll have to be very sure."

Wordlessly, Al pulled the flute from his pocket and held it up. The others stared at him in silence, skepticism and puzzlement mingling pretty much in equal quantities in all their expressions. But Llyn nodded slowly. "The music of the soul," he murmured. "I think y're on to somethin' there, my friend." He cast a quick glance out the bedroom door. The faint murmuring sound of Tom's voice floated into the room.

"I agree with Llyn," Maes nodded, "since you describe your alchemy as 'soul alchemy'. Though if it were anyone but the two of you, I'd say you were probably nuts."

Ed grinned at him. "We can be both nuts and right, Hughes. Remember that."

Al had expected skepticism, but to see it reflected most of all on Reilly's face surprised him. She frowned again, gazing at the flute as though trying to find some kind of mechanism she understood. "All right," she mused slowly, "you say the flute can help you open the Gate. But do you actually know _how_ it will do that?"

Al hesitated, then finally had to admit, "No. Not yet." At her raised eyebrows, he lifted his chin his jaw setting. "But I'll find out. One way or another." He flashed his brother a sly grin. "If Ed will give me enough time to concentrate and learn how."

"I haven't been bothering you _that_ much," Ed flashed back defensively.

Llyn was still distracted, head tilted toward the door as though he were trying to eavesdrop on Tom. And not just Tom; there seemed to be more than one voice now, out in the hallway.

Al couldn't tell if Heist was watching Llyn because of the voices, or for a different reason entirely.

"And anyway," Ed went on, drawing Al's attention back, "I'm not 'bothering' you, I'm trying to help you figure out how to use the flute. I need to understand how it works so I can open the--"

Suddenly he broke off, attention flying to the door, as Tom stepped back inside followed by Tony Redfeather, their host. Both men surveyed the gathering with sober eyes.

"What's happened?" Maes demanded immediately from the window.

Tom's eyes flickered to Llyn's face, and the younger man said softly, "That was Mam. Wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid so," Tom nodded. "The Feds are moving, and more quickly than we expected. They haven't narrowed it down yet to exactly this area, but they're getting close."

Maes said softly, "They've realized that Bond went missing somewhere around here."

The older man nodded again, grimly. He ran his gaze over his riveted audience. "I'm afraid we're going to have to move. Soon."

Al couldn't help the thrill of fear that jolted through him. He wasn't ready -- the flute -- he just wasn't _ready_ for this!

"I don't think Ed's truly well enough to go anywhere," Llyn began in protest, but his patient broke in.

"I can do it," he said briskly, upraised leg flattening, both hands pressed to the mattress to lift himself straighter against the pillows. "Don't worry, Llyn, I can do whatever I have to. I've done it before."

"And we'll help," Redfeather finally spoke. "We know ways through the back woods that can help you disappear when you need to." His expression went devious as he added, "And Sheriff Tanner is an old friend of mine." His gaze settled on Al and Ed. "The Feds can't just storm onto Indian land without going through proper channels, and Tanner will do a damn fine job of tangling these spooks up in their own red tape. That should give you a few more days, at least."

"Are you sure about this?" Reilly frowned. "We've caused you enough problems already, and this could be a lot worse."

"Don't trouble yourselves about that," the man reassured her. "My son's work was important, and it's just as important to me to complete it now that he's gone." Redfeather's benevolent smile rested on Al's face, and the boy had to lower his gaze, heart still clenched in trepidation. Singer had said he could do this, but he wasn't sure there was enough time. He stared at the flute in his right hand, mind racing.

"Don't worry, Al, we'll figure this out," Ed said, resting a hand on his forearm. For some reason, this only brought the panic closer to the surface.

Ducky's chair legs came down on the floor with a loud clump. "If we're going to try another Gate," he announced, "I'm making a quick visit to Gramps first."

Reilly retorted in irritation, "Really, Ducky, this is hardly the time to take an excursion--"

"I'm _going_," he growled, staring her down with an uncharacteristic glare. "Now that I know how dangerous this could be -- and with the Feds on our heels -- I'm not passing up the chance to see him."

Heist grabbed one of her friend's hands, grimacing in commiseration. Reilly backed down a little, sighing. "I know, Ducky. I know. This is a mess. But do you really think you should do this? Especially with the danger involved? You could lead them right to him."

"He could handle them better than any of us," the young man muttered. "But it doesn't matter. I have to see him."

"Yes," Al agreed suddenly, and all eyes in the room turned to him in surprise. All except Redfeather's. They didn't seem surprised at all. There was a weird sort of _deja vu_ about that. "Yes, Ducky," the boy repeated, "you should go. And you should take Ed with you."

"_What?_" Ed cried. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not leaving you now. We've got work to do!"

"_I_ have work to do," Al corrected him gently. He removed his brother's hand from his forearm and set it on the blankets as Ed stared in disbelief. "Listen. You can't help me with my soul alchemy, and you can't get into my head and figure out how this flute works. I'm the only one who can do that."

"But... Al..."

It broke his heart when that forlorn tone invaded Ed's voice, especially when he was the one who inflicted the pain. But this was too important, and Ed needed to understand. "You have to let me do this," Al insisted, "and you know you won't be able to keep yourself from trying to help. But you can't help this time." Earnest grey eyes met anxious gold ones in a plea for understanding. "Go with Ducky and take a break," the younger brother urged softly. "I'll be fine. I promise."

He worried that Ed would continue resisting; they'd had this sort of argument over and over again, for years. But there just wasn't time for it now. And Ed seemed to recognize that, finally closing his eyes, leaning back against his pillows. "All right, Al, you win," he sighed, all the fight gone out of him. "I'll go. I hope you know what you're doing."

"Right, then," Maes interjected briskly, pushing himself away from the window sill with both hands. "I guess we'd better start packing up to leave. What shall we do first?"

"The rest of you are welcome to stay here until Ducky and Edward return," Redfeather said. "And if we need to beat a hasty retreat, I can make sure to get everyone to the site."

"The van," Ducky said, leaping up from his chair. "I'd better put the rest of the gear in before we go."

The room was suddenly all action, as various people sprang into swift movement to make their preparations. Heist headed out after Ducky, though Llyn, already on his own cell phone, reached for her, their hands briefly touching, fingers trailing as she passed out of the room. Reilly, Hughes, and Tom followed the younger people, heads bent together as they conferred.

"Ed," Al murmured, "don't be upset. Okay? Everything will be fine." He set the flute down and took his brother's too-warm hand between both his own, pressing it against his cheek. His head turned to the side, he saw Redfeather move to the end of the bed, watching him, still smiling. He'd seen that calm encouragement on Singer's face too.

This was the right thing to do. He knew it. Not just for himself, but somehow, though he couldn't guess how, it was right for Ed too. They were going to be all right. He just knew it.

**A/N** -- Singer's wake was based on the Lakota Sioux culture, and although **fracturedchaos** researched the subject as well as she could, any mistakes made are all hers. To get an idea of what a **real** Lakota wake is like, please read Wake for an Indian Warrior, by Jim Sheeler.

To anyone who is Lakota Sioux, or lives within the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma: We sincerely hope that no offense is taken from this chapter and the previous one. While some artistic license was taken in order to fit with the story, we made every attempt to portray this rich culture accurately, and with respect.

Finally, the Indian name Redfeather gives Singer was spelled out phonetically, rather than as it might be otherwise, because the pronunciation is more important.


	40. Ch 28a What’s Bred in the Bone

"What's Bred in the Bone"

**"What's Bred in the Bone"  
Arc One: Chapter 28  
Balance of Power**

**Part One**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**September 4, 2006  
Clearwater, Kansas**

"Look, we're not going to be here long," Ducky said. "So don't get excited."

Ed remained as he was, slouched down in the passenger seat in the Ninjavan, and made no reply. But as he glanced briefly at his companion, he saw Ducky roll his eyes and jerk open his door, getting out and slamming it with a bit of extra force. Ed sighed and opened his own door, wincing a little as even that pushing motion made his shoulder ports twinge. He was trying to follow all of Llyn's instructions from this morning and not overdo anything, but it didn't take much to make things hurt.

In fact, as he hopped down onto the sidewalk, the pain in his left thigh stabbed so sharply that his leg would have given out under him if he hadn't grabbed the van door and held himself up until it passed.

Ducky appeared at his side, biting his lip anxiously. "Dude," he murmured, "are you okay? Do you want to lean on me till we get inside?"

Ed managed a wry little smile. "Thanks. But I think I'll be all right. It's just taking a while to adjust. See?" He let go of the door and pushed it shut, with his left hand.

"Well…okay. But grab me any time you need to." Ducky walked the short distance to the wrought iron fence in front of the house, frowning over his shoulder to make sure Ed was able to follow.

Ed made sure to walk after him as normally as possible. It got easier after a step or two; he seemed to need to keep limbered up, to lessen the pain. Much of the stiffness was from sitting in the van through the long morning drive, so he expected it to wear off fairly quickly. Squinting up at the early afternoon sun, he reflected that at least it was a warm day, which helped him stay loose.

Apparently satisfied that his companion was all right for the time being, Ducky pulled open the front gate, then pushed it back and forth a couple of times, listening to it squeak. "Maybe I should oil this before we leave," he muttered.

"Another delay? Why don't we just move in?" Ed grumbled. Seeing his friend's pursed lips, he added defensively, "I don't like being separated from Al, especially when he needs my help to figure out what to do with that flute. And I don't see why we need to make a detour like this when there's nothing we really have to do here."

"Al's your family -- Gramps is mine. Sense any parallels, Ed?" Ducky retorted, turning to head up the walk, between the rows of pansies growing along either side of it. He tossed back over his shoulder, "Get out of your own head sometimes and look around, Terminator."

"Like you're one to talk," Ed remarked. He trudged slowly up the walk behind Ducky. "All right, point taken," he conceded. "Family's important. I'll try to be patient for a while." He pretty much had to be anyway, of course. The effects of the catastrophe with the last Gate were slow to dissipate, the weakness from fever combining with the now almost constant ache in the bones that had to carry the weight of his automail limbs. Not to mention the cough that he couldn't seem to shake, that caught him by surprise and often left him weak and gasping before he could stop the spasms.

"You? Patient? I'll fall over and die the day I see that." Ducky hopped the three steps onto the wooden porch, ponytail bobbing, and pressed the doorbell with a flourish. Smiling fondly, he surveyed the large wooden swing, table, and two patio chairs arranged along the porch in front of the picture window. Big pots of petunias stood at regular intervals along the front rail, while baskets of lobelia and nasturtiums hung above them. "Ed?" He glanced back. "Gramps is a little eccentric, but he's a good guy. In fact," this with a sharp grin, "he's where I got all my brains from."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Ed snorted, coming slowly and carefully up the steps behind him.

"If I could get him wired, we'd take over the world. But we'd be generous overlords. Mostly." Ducky turned back to the door as it opened, and his face broke into a wide smile. "Gramps!" he said. "How've you been? I hope you don't mind if we drop in for a few minutes?"

At first it was hard to see the figure in the shadows on the other side of the screen. All that Ed could make out was that he wasn't very tall (though still an inch or two taller than himself, he noted with a grimace), and that he was fairly slender. As the screen pushed open, more details emerged: the man's olive skin and the iron grey hair pulled back from his face, the black shirt with rolled-up sleeves revealing lean, well-muscled arms that he lifted to embrace his grandson.

"Glad you called when you did," the man said. "Five minutes later, and I'd have left for Spain."

"Sure you would," Ducky snorted.

"Swear to god, D."

"You forget, Gramps, I've got the keys to the jet packs."

Ed reflected in amusement that whether or not Ducky got his brains from the old guy, it was obvious where he'd gotten his warped sense of humor.

"And this," the words broke into his thoughts, "is obviously your friend Edward."

"Oh, he's no friend, he's an alien from another planet," Ducky grinned over his shoulder.

But Ed barely acknowledged the private joke. The older man's gaze had come to rest on his face, and he found himself transfixed. Instead of the brown eyes one might expect with darker skin and hair, the eyes that watched him now were light-filled, amber colored, shading toward gold. His breath caught inexplicably at the unexpected contrast. He'd never met this man before, yet something about him was... familiar. Or at least reminded him of something. And if the idea weren't completely crazy, he'd almost swear from the man's expression that he was thinking the same thing.

"Ed? Hello? You're zoned out, dude." Ducky nudged him with a breezy laugh, but his eyes betrayed a hint of worry. Ever since the accident with the Gate, he'd been fretting every time Ed coughed or even winced.

"What?" Ed looked blankly at his companion, then resisted the impulse to shake his head to drag his thoughts back into line. "Oh," he murmured at Ducky's questioning frown. "You're right, I zoned out. Sorry. I'm very glad to meet you, sir."

Those unusual eyes crinkled at the corners as the man held out his hand. Just a little more crinkling, Ed thought, and the guy would be wearing Ducky's trademark smirk. Instead he smiled pleasantly, shaking hands with a firm grip, remarking, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Edward. A very great pleasure indeed. Come in, please."

He ushered the two younger men into his house, turning to shut the door behind them, pausing a moment with his hands flat against it. His hair was longer than Ed had first realized, hanging halfway down his back and styled in a single thick braid. Another unusual thing that Ducky shared with him, as though long hair and pony tails ran in their family along with weird humor.

On the other hand, Ed thought wryly, reaching back to touch his own pony tail, all sorts of people chose to wear their hair this way, for whatever reasons. (Even Al had done so, for a while.) It was interesting, though, that all three of them looked like this, when the general trend in this society seemed to be toward very short hair for men.

"So Danny," said the old man, turning toward them, "what brings you here this time?"

"Can't I just visit my grandfather because I want to?" Ducky smiled.

Ed frowned, trying to guess if he really did hear the trace of an accent in the old man's voice. He was pretty sure, though it was very faint, and he wouldn't be able to determine where it came from unless he heard it more clearly. But something else abruptly struck him. "Wait," he interjected. "He said 'Danny'? Is that you?"

"Daniel," Gramps chided, "are you making him call you Ducky too? You and your friends, with the nicknames."

The younger man grimaced. "It's what I like to go by," he muttered. "You know I'm not crazy about my real name. It sounds too... normal."

"Well," his grandfather pronounced, "I think this is an occasion for real names. Your friend's name is Daniel Thibodeaux. And that's what I call him, most of the time -- Daniel, or Danny. Or 'D', sometimes, when we're being silly."

"And he only gets away with it because he's my Gramps," Ducky warned Ed, chin jutting out. "You got that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it," Ed replied agreeably. But the gleam in his eye promised later discussion -- exploitation? -- of this issue of names. 'Daniel' didn't sound like a strange name to him, but obviously it wasn't to his companion's taste. That tidbit of information might be useful in the future. He grinned at Ducky's glare.

"Come in, sit down," Gramps now said, placing a hand on Ducky's back and another on Ed's shoulder, ushering them further into the living room.

The large, homey room contained a long couch under the picture window, two big, comfy arm chairs at the other end of the room, and a long coffee table in front of the couch. The bureau of several drawers, on the wall opposite the window, was adorned with a finely crocheted runner, upon which a number of framed photos were set. Two trailing plants hung on either side of the bureau, while a tall metal stand containing flower pots at different levels stood between the couch and arm chairs.

The porch roof outside prevented direct sunlight at this time of day, so a tall lamp between the arm chairs helped keep the room from being gloomy. The old man had apparently just vacated one of the chairs, evidenced by the book placed face-down on the coffee table in front of it, beside an ashtray. The only other thing on the table, sitting in the center on a lace doily, was a clear little glass dish containing a few small squares of paper and a couple of plastic bags of what looked like some kind of crushed plant material.

Ed wandered toward the bureau to check out the photos as Ducky bent over the coffee table, plucking a still-smoldering cigarette from the ashtray. He waved it under his nose, breathing deeply, and turned gleeful eyes to his grandfather. "Duuude!" he exclaimed. "This is some serious _shit_!"

He handed it to Gramps, who walked toward his arm chair, taking a long, deep drag. He peered briefly at the little cigarette, and nodded agreement. "It's good stuff," he said. "B.C. bud, I think."

"That's what I thought." Ducky leaned in for his own quick drag, before Gramps glanced at Ed, eyebrow raised in invitation.

"No thanks," Ed demurred. "I don't smoke. I didn't think you did either, duck-boy."

"This is no mere cigarette, Ed. This is primo quality cannabis."

"For the arthritis," said Gramps.

"Yeah. For arthritis," Ducky hooted, and grandfather and grandson shared an identical manic grin.

"Marijuana?" Ed frowned. It wasn't that he'd never heard of it -- it had been widely used in Germany, and he'd even tried it himself a few times. He actually should have recognized the aroma as soon as he walked into the room. But he'd seen enough teevee and news reports at Reilly's place to know that it wasn't as widely accepted in this country as it had been back there. "You're doing illegal drugs? Here?"

"Relax," Ducky said. "I won't have any more. It won't affect my driving. Although," he waved a hand in front of his face, "You might want to open a window later, Gramps."

"I don't care about all that," Ed retorted. "I just don't understand how you can think of doing something criminal after everything we've been through. I can't believe you'd risk it, considering who--" He cut himself off, on the verge of blurting too much information. "You could jeopardize _everything_, you idiot."

"Ed, c'mon, it's just--"

"Danny," Gramps put in curiously, "what is he talking about, 'everything you've been through'? Are you and your friend on the lam, by any chance? Is that why you showed up here so suddenly?"

"What the hell does that mean -- 'on the lamb'?" Ed exclaimed irritably. "Why are you talking about sheep?"

Ducky gaped at him for an incredulous moment before collapsing onto the couch, shrieking with laughter. Gramps plopped into his armchair, shaking his head, his free hand over his eyes as his own shoulders shook with mirth.

"Oh! My! God!" Ducky howled. "Sheep!"

Ed opened his mouth to snap an insult -- and then shut it again. He was suddenly so tired, and dammit, everything ached. He wished he'd stayed with the others, instead of agreeing to make this pointless little field trip. He made his way to the armchair to Gramps' right, and sank into it with tentative movements. Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his knees and rested his forehead on his hands. What was the use? It was suddenly too much to deal with, and he didn't have any stamina right now. He was tired -- tired of being afraid or angry, tired of running, tired of being so constantly clueless that all anyone ever did was laugh at him.

He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to rejoin Al. And he wanted to stop feeling completely lost and stupid. He wanted, more than anything, just to go _home_.

A hand settled onto his shoulder, and his head jerked up. Gramps had leaned over to touch him reassuringly, and now said softly, "Daniel. Time to stop. We're not being kind to your friend."

Ducky gulped down the laughter as much as he could. "Sorry, Ed. You caught me off guard. 'On the lam' doesn't mean 'lamb', like sheep. It means 'on the run from the law'. It's a phrase that gangsters use in old movies."

"An old phrase from an old man," Gramps said, the corners of his eyes wrinkling up again. He patted Ed's shoulder. "They used it a lot in the 1920s and 30s, and you can't be expected to know much about those years, can you?"

Ed's breath caught. The 1920s. Oh, but he did know something about them, didn't he? He was more acquainted with their darker aspects than Gramps could ever imagine. He'd even been there himself, just a few months ago. The thought made him dizzy. If his host only knew...

"Would you like something to drink?" Again the older man's voice interrupted his thoughts. "There's coffee or tea, or something stronger if you like."

"No alcohol," Ducky said immediately. "At least not for me. I'm driving. And I don't know if we can stay long enough to boil up a pot of anything else. Right, Ed?"

It was an unexpected gift, allowing him to make the decision about how long to stay. Ducky knew how uneasy he got, being apart from Al for too long, especially now when so many important things were about to happen. The guy was a pain in the ass most of the time, but sometimes he had moments like this. The least he could do, Ed decided, was give a little back.

"I think we can stay long enough," he said, and received a grateful smile. "Tea would be nice, thanks."

Gramps immediately slipped past him and into the kitchen, whence they could shortly hear water running, and the sound of cups being set out.

"This is a nice place," Ed said.

"It's my home away from home," Ducky told him. "It's been a bit harder for Gramps since Grandma Lize passed away three years ago, so I try to check on him as often as I can. Like you always say -- family's important. And Gramps especially, for me."

"Kindred spirits, right, Danny?" said the old man, reappearing in the doorway.

"You know," Ed chuckled, making way for him to get back to his arm chair, "that could be kind of dangerous. _Danny_," he emphasized, grinning at Ducky, "can be a little...erratic. You may not want to be a kindred spirit."

"You forget," Gramps grinned back, "he gets it from me, not the other way around. I used to be quite the terror, back in the thirties. My mother despaired of me sometimes."

"And the only time I really go 'erratic', Terminator-boy," remarked Ducky, "is when you get too hard to live with."

"Oh no you don't," Ed snickered. "You're the one who's hard to live with. Like your grandfather said -- you with the weird friends and weird nicknames. And that 'research' you do..."

"Don't criticize the research, Term," Ducky snorted. "That 'mumbo jumbo', as you call it, is going to get you where you need to be. Remember that."

"Yeah, well. It might have been coincidentally useful, but I still don't buy most of it. And I still think that sometimes you people just aren't normal."

"At least I manage to live in only one world and one century. That's pretty normal, compared with--"

"_Ducky_!" Ed broke in sharply.

The two stared at each other for a long moment before Ducky realized just what he'd been saying. He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well, normal is over-rated anyway," he finished. "Better to be weird than boring."

The old man looked from one to the other and remarked, "You two bicker like brothers."

"Brothers?" Ducky exclaimed. "_His_ brother? No thanks, I'll let Al put up with that job. The kid's a saint."

Ed snorted. "Al knows exactly what kind of respect to give an older brother, duck-boy."

"Speaking of brothers...," Gramps interjected, raising a significant eyebrow at his grandson.

"Right," Ducky nodded briskly, pulling up his legs to sit cross-legged. "Family. Well, let's see who I've heard from lately. There's mom, of course. Going at me about the usual things, you know what she's like."

"And your Uncle James dropped in to see me yesterday."

"Good guy. We IM sometimes, did he tell you?"

Grandfather and grandson began catching up on various family members while Ed slipped gradually into reverie. He wondered how his own family member was doing; he hoped Al wasn't worrying about him the way he was worrying about his brother. Sure, he'd said he needed some time alone to figure out the flute, but knowing him, he was probably spending his time wondering how Ed was managing, out and about after being laid up with such serious injuries. Hopefully he would manage to accomplish what he needed to. Even though Ed still wasn't completely convinced that they shouldn't be working on this together.

Oh well, this visit wouldn't take very long, and it was the least he could do, Ed thought, to let Ducky get the latest news about a few relatives. He kind of envied the guy, having such a big family, though he'd never tell Ducky that, of course.

His eyes wandered around the room and settled on the bureau with the photographs on top. They all seemed to be pictures of people rather than scenery, and the people were probably the very ones Ducky and Gramps were talking about now. It occurred to him that he didn't have any photos of him and Al. If there was time, maybe he could ask Hughes or Ducky to take a couple of quick ones later. Or if there wasn't time, Hughes would be more than happy to take, oh, five hundred or so, once they got back home. He suppressed the urge to grin at the thought.

His reverie snapped as Gramps walked past again, toward the kitchen and the whistling kettle.

"You fall asleep for a bit, there?" Ducky asked.

"No, I was just thinking about Al, and looking at those pictures. I don't have any of him, since he got his body back. I missed the first two years after he'd come back, and after he came to Germany with me, we just never thought of it. There was always something else more important, I guess."

"Are you trying to tell me that the other Maes Hughes, back then, _didn't_ take a lot of pictures?" Ducky quipped impudently, but suddenly stopped short, realizing what painful ground he was treading. "I mean... sorry, Ed, didn't mean to bring up, you know... bad stuff..."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. He did take pictures when he had the chance," Ed smiled reminiscently, "but he and Gracia didn't have much money. And back then, it was pretty expensive. Al and I used to laugh sometimes, because we could see he had the impulse. He would've been just as bad as our own Hughes, if he'd had the money and the equipment."

He fell into silence, remembering. But Ducky, still uncomfortable at having broached the subject at all, squirmed on the couch and mumbled, "Well, anyway... that whole body thing," he shook his head. "It creeps me out whenever you talk about it. And you think my friends and I aren't normal."

"If the 'body thing' scares you," Ed smirked, "then you'd really have been scared if you actually saw him in the armor."

"Now, Ed. I didn't say 'scared'. I said 'creeped out'. There's a difference," Ducky informed him loftily. "But you know, if it's photos you want, I can do up a few before we go."

"That digital stuff," Ed marvelled. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"You won't have to for long. You'll soon be safely back in the stone age where you came from. Banging rocks together to make sparks for a fire."

Ducky grinned, and Ed snorted back, "If you think we have to rely on rocks for fire, there's someone I wish you could meet. And we're not in the stone age. We've got cars, movies--"

"Black and white, I bet." Ducky shuddered in delicious horror at the thought.

"So what? We've got radio, telephones--"

"No computers, Ed. No TV, no Blackberries! I mean -- dude, how do you _live_ like that? How can you not be, like, totally bored, 24/7? It's barbaric."

"We spend time with other people, instead of staring at monitors. And," Ed added with a glint in his eye, "we _read_, Daniel. We use our brains to make entertainment for ourselves, instead of lying around waiting for someone to feed it to us."

"Stop calling me that. And I read," Ducky protested. "That's all I do when I'm on the computer."

"Oh, I've seen some of the intellectual things you read on there. B-R-B. L-O-L. That's real challenging, Danny-boy."

"I said stop calling me that. Short stuff."

"What did you say?" Ed cried, as Gramps came back, carrying a tray with teapot and cups on it. The man set down the tray and proceeded to pour the tea.

"I said short stuff. 'Cause, well, you are," Ducky taunted from safely on the other side of his grandfather.

"I am not! I've grown at least two inches since I came through the Gate the first time. Daniel," Ed added, eyes narrowed. It was those two inches, in fact, that were causing so many problems with the automail.

"If you think you're going to bother me just by using my real name, think again, Terminator-boy."

"Oh, I can bother you, all right. I can tell Al and Hughes what your name is, and tell them that you'd really prefer that they use it, except you're too nervous to ask since they've gotten used to the nickname."

"You wouldn't."

"Just try me. Danny. Now take it back."

"I'm warning you, Ed. Start spreading the name around, and you're on the list. I mean it."

"I'm offering a simple solution. Just take back the 'short' comments, and all is forgiven."

"C'mon, Ed, you can't expect me to _lie_ for you," Ducky replied, eyes innocently wide.

"I expect you to shut up with the comments about height!"

Gramps leaned forward, putting a cup of tea in front of Ed. "You know," he smiled reminiscently, setting down the teapot and gazing into space. "She often talked about how you were like this."

"'She' who?" Ed wondered. "Do you mean Ducky's mom? It wouldn't surprise me if she thought he was a little weird."

"No, I'm not speaking of Danny. I'm talking about you," said the old man. He leaned back in his chair, still smiling in fond remembrance. Then he added, turning slowly, those strange amber eyes rising to Ed's face. "She always said to me, 'There was nobody on earth like Edward Elric when he got into a temper'."

**Central Oklahoma**

Al leaned back against the tree, hands and flute dropping into his lap as he groaned yet again in frustration. This was never going to work! He just didn't know where to begin, and every time he started to play the instrument, the thought of Ed would creep into his mind and his fingers would begin to fumble.

He hoped his brother was okay. When Ed had climbed into Ducky's van early this morning, he'd needed Maes to help him get up onto the seat. What if it hurt him too much, getting in and out? What if his fever came back? What if he fell and reinjured himself--

Al clenched his teeth and sternly took his thoughts in hand. It wasn't as though his brother was alone, he reminded himself. Ducky had been surprisingly helpful ever since they had tried the Gate, and he'd be there if Ed needed him. Despite how he usually behaved, when it came right down to it, he could be astonishingly competent when he had to be. He wouldn't let Ed get hurt.

With that settled -- again -- Al lifted the flute to his lips. Again. He had to keep working at this. They didn't have enough time, for him to waste it this way. For one brief moment, as he heard the fluttering wings above his head, he realized that the raven had returned from wherever it had gone a few minutes ago, and had settled back onto a branch in the neighboring tree, a place it had occupied on and off all morning.

When the bird had appeared, shortly after he'd come to the woods today, his first thought had been of Singer, and the raven that had always accompanied the man. But he knew, from things Redfeather had told him, that Singer's raven had died when the Gates exploded. And anyway, this one had an odd streak of grey feathers arching back from one of its eyes, so it was obviously a different bird. It had been coming and going for a few hours, but mostly sitting on that branch, silently observing Al's futile efforts to understand what to do with the flute.

But he couldn't let that bother him either, even though he wished the raven would quit watching him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, damp smell of earth and sweetly decaying leaves and fresh green buds, and began to play. His fingers moved slowly from note to note, as he listened to the sounds and tried to hear what they meant, hear what meaning or power might lie behind them. If he could understand the relationship of the sounds to the steps needed to open the Gate, he might learn how to control them.

The music rose softly into the woods, floating on the light breeze that moved the leaves in the tree above him. The early afternoon sun filtered through the layers of branches until it showered off the floor of the wood with gentle green light, tinged with occasional sparks of gold. He felt the rough wood against his back, felt himself easing against it, and slowly his mind relaxed. His thoughts began to wander…

…and he jerked himself back to awareness almost immediately, the music faltering and cutting off yet again. He thumped his head back against the tree trunk, and found the raven's sharp black eye still fixed on him as it tilted its head to stare down.

"I can't help it!" he cried, half to the raven, half to the surrounding woods. "I don't know what's _wrong_ with me. I just can't concentrate!"

"And I think," came a soft voice behind him, "that that would be exactly your problem, my friend." And Llyn emerged from behind another tree, the cracking sound of tiny branches accompanying his footsteps as he walked over to stand beside Al.

"What -- what do you mean?" the boy faltered. For a moment, as a shaft of light slanted down behind the man, throwing his face into shadow, Al could almost imagine that it was Roy Mustang smiling down at him.

The young doctor lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the ground. "Concentrating," he said softly, "may be just what you don't want to do. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about the music of the soul."

Ed and Ducky stared at the old man, the silence in the room an absolute, almost tangible thing. The unease Ed had felt when first meeting the man crept back up his spine. How did this guy know his last name? Had Ducky told him?

"What are you talking about?" he demanded uncomfortably. "What do you mean -- _she_ told you about me? I've only been here a few months. You can't possibly know anyone who knows me." He got to his feet. "Ducky, I think maybe we ought to go after all."

"Ed, we just got here," Ducky complained.

"Well, you know we don't have much time, and the others will worry the whole time we're gone."

"I'm not leaving yet. You want to go by foot, go ahead. But Gramps," Ducky added, "he's got a point. I don't blame Ed for thinking this is a little weird. You've never met him till today. How could anyone have been talking to you about him? Who is _'she'_ supposed to be, anyway?"

The old man's smile faded, his eyes flickering from one to the other of his visitors. "Daniel…," he began, before falling silent. He picked up the little cigarette again, contemplating it a moment, brows drawn together.

"What?" As his grandfather continued to hesitate, the younger man shifted uneasily on the couch. "Gramps, what's up?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Danny… don't be upset."

"I'm not. What do you mean? Are you okay?"

Gramps set the marijuana back into the ashtray and placed his hands on his knees with careful deliberation. "There's something I need to tell you -- both of you," he replied. "I always expected to meet Ed some day; I just didn't realize you'd be with him. I never expected, in the beginning, that you would even exist. So I never knew how to plan for this, you see."

_This guy is mad,_ Ed thought to himself. _He's completely insane. No wonder Ducky's so--_

The thoughts shut off abruptly as he noticed Ducky himself, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed raptly on his grandfather's face. He asked, his breathing rapid and uneven, "Gramps, are you saying you've seen Ed coming to visit you? Is that what you're saying? Like in a vision or something?"

The world skewed sharply off its rails. _Wait a minute,_ Ed thought, a little wildly. _This is weirder than any of that 'research' he's been doing. He should know better! The guy's playing him like a violin, and he's falling for it. This is just a crazy old man on drugs, why can't he see it?_ But as he glanced at Gramps, still seated calmly in the arm chair beside his, he found the man's large, bright eyes boring into him again. _Those eyes,_ he thought, his throat tightening, _what do they remind me of?_ The question suddenly seemed very important.

"Ed," the man said gently. "You'll probably need to sit down."

But Ed couldn't move. He could only shake his head dumbly and wait, flesh hand inexplicably clammy, mouth parched. He was being an idiot, but he couldn't seem to help it. He'd been sitting too close to the smoke from that cigarette, hadn't he?

Ducky laughed breathlessly, his voice squeaking, "Gramps, this is too weird. You're really making with the drama, here."

A wave of relief almost swept Ed off his feet. Finally, Ducky seemed to be showing some common sense. He'd said his grandfather was 'a little eccentric', but surely he'd realized that the man was just playing for attention--

"I said this was an occasion for real names," Gramps said suddenly. "Daniel and the rest of my family know me as Mateo Etchegary, but that is not the name I was given at birth. Alize and I both changed our names when we came to this country."

"Why?" Ducky asked. "You never told me you did that."

"We were young and afraid, and didn't know if we were safe after our escape. So we took other names, and left our old selves behind forever. At least," the old man's lips twisted wryly, "till today we did."

"Oh, Gramps," whispered Ducky. "I didn't know."

"So you're not American?" Ed asked, wondering what that had to do with anything. "What country were you from? Why did you need to escape?"

"Can't you guess?" Gramps answered quietly.

"No," Ed said faintly. "I can't." He couldn't guess, with those eyes upon him. He wouldn't guess. The trace of accent in the man's voice -- he didn't recognize it. He didn't.

"I never actually told you," Ducky commented. "People in the family don't like to talk about it, so I don't get into it except with Gramps. He escaped from one of the camps during the second world war. From Germany."

"From Dachau, to be exact," said the older man.

From Germany. From Dachau. The words hit Ed with the force of a sledge hammer, knocking the air out of his chest. Germany. And Dachau -- the very camp where -- Oh no. Oh no.

"Dude," Ducky broke into his chaotic thoughts, the frown of worry back on his face. Damn his perceptiveness. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"

Ed felt as though his weak limbs were going to collapse under him, but this was too important. He remained on his feet, forcing himself to gasp, "If you were there -- then you -- you knew them. Didn't you? My -- my f-fam -- so that's -- that's where you heard my name."

"You were mentioned there, of course," Gramps nodded, watching him intently.

"Gramps!" Ducky cried. "Seriously? You knew about Ed even before I brought him here?"

"Oh, long before that, Danny. And long before Dachau, in fact. Edward -- my own name -- my real name--"

"No," Ed whispered around the fear that suddenly threatened to choke him. "Please, no... please..."

"--was Maes Elric. I was named after my wife Elysia's father -- Maes Hughes."

"It seems to me, Alphonse," Llyn remarked thoughtfully, "that you and that brother of yours do far too much analyzing and not enough feeling."

"That's not true," Al shook his head. "You know us now, you know we're not emotionless. I sometimes think we're too emotional, even. I mean, look at Ed, the way he uses his own feelings to drive him. He takes the way he feels about me, and the guilt he feels about things in the past, and channels it into--"

"And there it is again," Llyn interrupted with a wry smile. "Ye're analyzing your brother's emotions to prove to me ye're not analytical."

"I don't understand what you want me to say!" Al cried. "I don't seem to be able to do anything right with this flute, and now I can't say anything right either!" He hated the way his eyes were beginning to tear up. And Llyn said he wasn't _feeling_ enough?? He didn't dare look up into the branches to see if the raven was watching.

"Hush, youngster. Hush," his companion soothed. "Here, move just a wee bit, and we'll see what we can do to relax you." Al shifted position, and Llyn moved to kneel behind him. In a moment, he felt the man's hands on his shoulders, gently massaging them, thumbs circling on his shoulder blades. "There. This'll help, in a minute or two. How is it so far?"

"It feels pretty good," Al had to admit. "But as soon as I try to play the flute, you know I'm just going to tense up again."

"That's if you _try_ to play," came the soft comment. "But y'see, my friend, that is precisely what you must not do."

Al grumbled, "I promise, Llyn, if you start talking like Yoda, I might break my flute over your head."

For a moment, the hands on his shoulders tightened and shook slightly, and he realized his companion was laughing. "No fear, my friend," the man chuckled, finally catching his breath. "I think I haven't the accent for the part."

Once again, Al managed to relax, and even allowed himself a little smile. "And your ears are way too small," he agreed, but immediately sobered again. "All right. But I still think I have to try, one way or another. I'll never be able to figure out the way to open the Gate if I don't."

"But that is the point, Alphonse -- you must stop trying to be Edward and 'figure out' everything. Did Singer not tell you that you already had what you needed, in your heart? He didn't mean your brain, Alphonse. And haven't you told me that your alchemy is about the soul? Everything's going to come from a different place, for you."

"I suppose so. But I don't know how to get at it."

"I know you don't. So let me tell you a few stories from the old country -- from my own home, where I was born."

"You weren't born in this country?" Al asked, glancing over his shoulder in surprise. He was even more surprised at the pain in the young man's eyes. "Llyn -- what's--"

"No, Al, I wasn't born here," Llyn answered softly. "My own parents -- my real parents -- they're dead. They were murdered, by a cursed man. A man like your Bond. But they taught me… things. Stories I've made sure never t'forget. Let me tell you some of them…"


	41. Ch 28b What’s Bred in the Bone

"What's Bred in the Bone"

**"What's Bred in the Bone"  
Arc One: Chapter 28  
Balance of Power**

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, SPOILER HEAVY and just a bit AU**

**September 4, 2006  
Clearwater, Kansas**

"_What the hell??_" Ducky leapt to his feet, gaping in stupefaction at his grandfather. "Your name -- Maes Elric -- no _way_! That can't be! That's -- that's just--"

"It's a trick," Ed faltered. He felt as though the earth was shaking under his feet, and fought desperately for stable footing. "It's a lie. It's… it's not true."

Ducky stared at him. "Ed," he said. "Sit down. Seriously." When he got no answer, he hopped over the coffee table and stepped closer, hands out. "You have to sit or you're going to--"

"He's _lying!_" Ed cried, backing away. "You did this, didn't you? You saw the book, you read it -- you put him up to this, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You told him about my family. You told him to play this trick on me."

"What the _hell_ are you talking about, Ed?" Ducky exclaimed. "This is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you."

"I don't believe you!" Ed yelled raggedly. "How could you do this to me??" He had backed himself against the wall by the bureau now, groping behind him for support, while Ducky followed, still reaching out for him. Tendrils of ivy from a hanging basket trailed over both their heads. Ed pushed both ivy and helping hands away, mindlessly.

"Don't be stupid!" Ducky yelled back irritably. "Why would I do something like that?"

"I don't know. You're working with Bond, maybe. Like Heist did. Or you can't stand that I beat you at your stupid computer games, so you decided to trump me with the mother of all twisted games."

"_Working with Bond??_" Ducky shrieked. "You think I'm working with _the guy who tried to kill Heist??_"

He pulled his right arm back, aiming a hard fist at Ed's head. But Ed blocked the move easily with his left forearm, swinging his automail arm to land a blow on the side of Ducky's head, knocking him halfway across the room. He yelped as a stab of pain throbbed into his shoulder, while the other man skidded and rolled, then pushed himself onto hands and knees, head hanging groggily.

"D-dammit, Ed…," he mumbled, spitting blood.

Ed gasped around the sudden constriction in his chest, coughing heavily before he suppressed the spasms by sheer force of will. "Just one thing you forgot, when you cooked up this trick, you bastard," he rasped, advancing upon Ducky, fists clenched. "They all died in those camps, and I know it. I know this is a lie."

"But you see," Gramps said calmly, appearing from nowhere to grip the automail arm and yank Ed around to face him, "we didn't all die. Alize -- Elysia -- the two of us had to make it seem that way, after we escaped. But we got out."

"You're lying -- I have the book, with the records -- I know what it says--"

"_Gott im Himmel!_ Edward. I _wrote_ the book," said the man. "I invented my own death and Lize's, to be convincing. I know every word that's written there." And to Ed's growing horror, he began to quote. In German.

_"Sie wird gegangen. Ich sah ihr weg führend. Und für einen Moment, sie betrachtete mich. Dann drückte der deutsche Schweinsoldat ihr Vorwärts. Es gab die spielende Musik, aber ich könnte ruhig die Schüsse hören."_

_"She is gone. I saw her being led away. And for one moment, she looked at me. Then the German pig soldier pushed her forward. There was music playing, but I could still hear the gunshots."_

"Look at me, Ed," said Gramps, allowing his now undeniable German accent to emerge more strongly than before. "Just look at me."

"No. I'm not playing along with this." Ed couldn't help himself. He squeezed his eyes closed and turned his head away, backing up against the wall again, crossing his arms protectively over his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "I won't let you do this to me!" he cried. "I won't!"

"Typical," the older man retorted. "Always so stubborn. Very well, then, there's something else you should see."

He turned away, and Ed opened his eyes again, warily following his movements. Gramps stooped to the bottom drawer of the bureau, and took out a long, flat box, setting it carefully on top. He lifted the box lid accompanied by a rustling sound, then gently folded back the tissue inside.

He took hold of what was within, and raised his hands with a bit of a flourish. Something red, something soft, rose with his hands and then unfurled and spread itself in a supple crimson fall.

It was a plain, lightweight, long sleeved coat which, if Ed had put it on, would have come down to just past his knees. A spear of impossible recognition pinned him, frozen, to the wall and he shook his head once, in desperate denial. Pain thudded heavily in his chest. This couldn't, _couldn't_ be what it looked like.

Gramps' eyes fixed themselves intently on the younger man's face as, his movements slow and deliberate, he turned the coat around to display the back.

A hood sagged between his hands, between the shoulders of the coat. And down the back, only partly obscured by the fall of the hood, was a symbol as familiar to Ed as his own name: a cross shape, with a serpent twined around it and a winged crown soaring above. Symbol of alchemy, on the back of a coat Ed had worn through all the years of his quest, and which Al had worn when jumping the Gate with him to this world. A coat that had been left behind with Noah, just a few months ago in Ed's personal chronology.

Trembling in fear, he lifted his face at last and gazed into those eyes -- his own brilliant gold eyes, bequeathed decades ago to a son he had never known he had -- and his knees gave out. He sank to the floor with a whimper, collapsing into a limp pile of shaking bones and metal. He felt it only dimly, as though at a great distance from his body, when the old man set aside the coat and knelt before him, pulling him into a strong, supportive embrace.

It could have been hours or even days that the two of them sat that way in silence. Ed might have continued for hours longer, his mind cocooning itself in shock, if not for Ducky.

The young man finally pushed himself up onto his haunches and peered in dazed disbelief at the two of them. He rubbed his sore head absently, his tongue probing a split lower lip. But suddenly his gaze sharpened. "Holy _shit!_" he cried, hysteria flaring in his voice. "Ed! Dude! You're my great grandfather!"

Whereupon he collapsed onto his back, gasping with frantic, screaming laughter that very quickly morphed into sobs as he threw his arms across his face.

**Central Oklahoma**

"...Y'see, Alphonse," Llyn went on as he came to the end of another story, standing still and half-entranced, gazing with unseeing eyes into the ever-shifting leaves in the branches above his head, "these myths all tell of doors to the Other World, and often the great hunt that led to them. Sometimes the door may be found in a castle. Pryderi, with his mother the goddess Rhiannon, entered into such a castle and touched a golden bowl beside a fountain in the courtyard, and it froze them until the whole place vanished, taking them with it. Pryderi's own father, Pwyll, when riding on a hunt, met Arawn, lord of the Underworld, and exchanged places with him, spending a year ruling the other world."

"But it sounds," Al interjected quietly, "like those people were doing the hunting -- not being hunted themselves."

Llyn smiled, but remained as he was, gaze fixed on the mythical world. "Yes, but I tend to think that it didna' matter so much, who was hunting or hunted. It was the surge and strength  
of the hunt that propelled them all. And the companionship of the animals." Now the young man glanced down at Al, who still sat cross-legged, leaning back against the tree. Raising a significant eyebrow, the doctor cocked his head toward the raven, who had barely moved a muscle since Llyn first appeared on the scene.

Al scowled at the bird. "He's not my companion. He's just... here."

Llyn went on, as though he hadn't spoken. "There are other doors through the worlds. Sometimes they are found on the highest mountains. And sometimes..." he leaned over and ran a hand along the tree bark above the boy's head, "they are found in trees."

"So you're saying I'm supposed to find some mountain -- or some tree -- or go on a hunt -- and that will somehow teach me how to use this flute? Llyn, you're not making any sense at all."

Again the other went to his knees, settling himself at Al's side. "No, I'm not saying any of that," he smiled. "Because what all of those stories truly say is that the seeker must find the Center of the world. The great Tree of Odin, Mount Meru of the Hindu myths, the Omphalos of Greece, the Spiral Castle of my own people -- the great Gate that sings in tune with the power of your own world's alchemists -- all stand at the Center. And all are found--" he placed his hand over Al's heart, his dark eyes boring intently into the boy's "--here."

Al felt the tears starting into his eyes, and tried to blink them away. "Then we'll never get home," he whispered, "because I can't find the Center."

"It's there," Llyn assured him. "At the place where you pull away part of your soul to send it somewhere else -- that's the Center, Alphonse. That's where the music flows from; it's why you can play this flute and y'r brother cannot. That's the bridge that spans the void. Remember, you told me that you once set a piece of your soul in a suit of armor, and spoke to your brother across the worlds." The young doctor squeezed his hands once again on Al's shoulders. "You've already done this thing once before, my friend. Find that place inside you again, when you play your flute, and see the music as a bird flying from your heart, across the bridge, to your loved ones on the other side. Reach for them with your soul, put your soul into the music. That will open the Gate at the Center of worlds."

"What you're talking about is some kind of magic, Llyn. But you're a doctor -- you don't believe in that sort of thing any more than Brother and I do. Why are you talking about magic castles and trees and--"

"You're missin' my point entirely, Alphonse," Llyn shook his head, hands tightening insistently on Al's shoulders until the boy had no choice but to gaze into his earnest dark eyes. "The myths don't speak of literal truth, but they tell an even deeper truth. They are talking about the power of your Gate, and the power inside your own soul, and how the two are connected. In your world, somehow that is science, even if the only language my world can find to describe it is the language of magical tales. But it doesn't matter what language is used -- it's your power they're talkin' about."

Al hefted the flute in one hand, frowning thoughtfully down at it. "My power...," he repeated slowly.

The young doctor gazed past his companion, eyes unfocused, looking at something that wasn't there. He murmured, "The tales speak of faery people who come through such a Gate and draw mortals into the enchanted lands, away from their suffering. Our poets sing of them: 'Come away oh human child, to the waters and the wild, with a faery hand in hand… For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand…"

For a moment longer, Al contemplated the instrument, rubbing his thumb absently along the side. He felt the hands on his shoulders echoing the movement, as his friend's own thumbs lightly traced the collarbones under his shirt. As the words of the poem faded away, he knew. "Llyn," he whispered. "The way your parents... died. That's how you recognized Bond. That's why you're helping us. Isn't it?"

He wasn't prepared to be engulfed, but he found himself encircled by the older man's arms, pressed tightly to the other's chest. He could hear Llyn's heart racing, and feel his struggle to speak.

"Alphonse... my friend," the other choked, his breath stirring Al's hair. "I'd have wanted to help anyway. Truly. But... but that sort of intuition... that's what will show you the way, when the time comes. Trust yourself."

Llyn lifted his head and pulled back, cupping his hands around Al's face and smiling gently, painfully. Then the man stood and turned, walking quickly away through the woods, head bowed.

Al had caught a quick glimpse of his eyes before he'd turned away. Lifting the flute to his lips, thinking of his own mother and father, the boy began to play, the music swelling to fill the woods, sending all the compassion and empathy he possessed after his departing friend.

Ed sat hunched on the couch, cradling a fresh cup of hot tea in unsteady hands. Despite the thick, warm blanket wrapped around him, he couldn't seem to stop shivering. They had begun to lay the red coat on his shoulders but he had shrunk back as though it were an instrument of torture. It now lay draped across the box on the bureau, ready to be folded and put away again if necessary.

His companions sat to either side of him, Gramps watching carefully from the right, while attempting to answer the questions Ducky peppered from the left. The words darted back and forth past Ed, some sticking in his mind and others flashing away before he could really grasp them.

"So how did you and Grandma manage to escape?"

"Mr. Hughes had been put to work filing documents in the camp. He managed to fake some records so I could be released. I... didn't want to leave him. He was very ill, you see, and Mrs. Hughes had already died. But he convinced me when he reminded me that Elysia was still alive, living in the countryside with her grandparents. She... she would need me, he said, when he was gone. But I've told you most this before, Danny."

"I know, but -- it's like a whole different story now. And you never told me their names. But go on."

"I had to take the chance he gave me, for his sake and for hers. And I already loved her. So I left the camp and took odd jobs in the city, until I could save enough money to go to her."

"And your… your mom. She was already gone, by the time you got out?"

"Oh yes. It had been almost three years by then."

"She's the one who told you about your…," Ducky hesitated, "…about Ed?"

"She often spoke of him. I knew all about him and his brother, even before the bad times came." Gramps smiled. "She had a picture that I memorized. And there were other things..." He hesitated. "I would have known who Ed was today, even if he used a different name."

"But how did you get the idea you'd meet him some day?"

Again a hesitation. "Mother thought I might. Remember that she... could see things. And as I said, there were other hints. I was sure I would see him in the flesh, before my life was over."

"But Gramps, I still don't get how you recognized him. I mean, he should be ancient now. You didn't expect to meet a guy my age, after all these years."

The old man smiled again. "But I did," he said.

"Get out!"

"It's hard to explain, Danny. There are so many details..." Gramps shrugged. "It doesn't matter, though, does it? I knew I would see him, and I was right. That's the important thing."

Ducky shook his head. "No wonder you don't freak out at some of the things I get into. You're already living your own Sci-Fi story."

Gramps straightened the blanket around Ed's shoulders. "I watch your science fiction shows on TV sometimes. They've never seemed far-fetched to me. If Elysia and I could escape and survive, in all the ways we did before we came to America, many other things must be possible. Even a man coming here from another world. And coming to the 1920s one time, and the 21st century next time."

Ed moved abruptly, setting his tea on the table. "Stop," he whispered. "Please, just stop." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands.

"Hey." Ducky patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "You okay? It's been a big shock."

"Shock," Ed repeated. "That's an understatement."

"You… do believe him now, right? And you don't think we rigged up the story as a trick?"

A long silence. "Sorry I said that," Ed murmured. "I should never have hit you. I think I was angry because I knew it was true, and I didn't want it to be. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But I'm going to have a bitchin' bruise. If you give me trouble from now on, I can complain about child abuse…" Ducky's voice trailed away as Ed lifted stricken eyes to his swollen face. "Sorry, Ed. Sorry. I'm being stupid."

Ed pulled the blanket more tightly around him. He just couldn't stop shivering. He hunched down into his shoulders and at last forced himself to whisper the thing that had haunted him for weeks, from the moment he had learned of his son's existence and supposed fate. "You must hate me very much...," he choked the name out, "...M-Maes."

He couldn't look at the older man beside him. He didn't dare. He didn't remember ever being so afraid.

"Edward," Gramps answered softly. "You're wrong. I don't hate you. And you can call me Mateo, if it makes this easier."

"How," Ed rasped, and cleared his throat. "How can it possibly make this easier, to call you by another name? That won't change anything. Nothing will ever change the fact that I left Noah behind, and you grew up without a father, and when you really needed me I wasn't there -- I never came for you -- I never rescued you--"

"Millions of people weren't rescued--" Gramps tried to interject.

"You ended up in that horrible place -- you and your mother -- and they died -- Noah, Hughes, Gracia -- all of you suffered, and I never came back to stop it!"

"Ed, please--"

"I could have saved you -- kept you from being taken away -- and I wasn't there -- they died and you ended up in the camp -- and it was my fault -- my fault--"

"You could never have--"

"I should have stayed -- I should have found a way back -- I should never have left!" Ed's fingers dug into his hair as the sobs surged up and overtook him, heaving through his body while tears poured down his face in torrents.

He heard the elderly man sigh, and comment over his head to his grandson, "Does he ever listen, Danny?"

"Not when it comes to family," the younger man answered somberly. Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Ducky wipe the back of a hand across his own eyes, sniffling.

"What kind of father was I?" Ed wept. "What kind of lover? Noah -- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_--"

Gramps wrenched the blanket back, grabbed his shoulders, and gave him a firm shake. "Stop this," he commanded. "It is time to listen to me now, Edward Elric!"

Ed gasped, his head jolting up. He gulped a couple of hiccupping sobs and stared at the man, eyes wide, the desolation still shuddering through him. The rush of tears did not lessen, and when his lips pulled back in a fresh grimace of grief, he felt the swamp of self-recrimination beginning to engulf him again.

But he fought against it, raising his hands, slowly, and touching the arms that still held him. His metal hand closed around Gramps' -- Maes' -- his son's -- left forearm, while the flesh hand ran up and down the older man's right arm, gingerly, from shoulder to wrist. "I -- I don't know what to do," he whispered forlornly. "Or what to say."

"Will you listen to me for a minute?"

"I'll try." He took a deep breath, his fingers moving unconsciously on the other man's arm, as though seeking to absorb its texture and warmth. He stared into the other face, for the first time taking it in with complete understanding: the coloring inherited from Noah, the cheekbones and jawline -- and eyes -- that could only have come from himself. This was truly his son. Maes Elric.

Maes kept his hands firmly on Ed's shoulders. "It is true," he murmured, "I wanted to hate you at first, while mother waited for you and you never returned. I thought you had abandoned us."

"Of course you did." Ed bowed his head. "You couldn't think anything else."

"I could. You must believe that." The hands squeezed slightly, forcing the younger man's head up again. "Mother told me what an honorable person you were. She said you tried hard to do what was right, which was why you left on your mission with Alphonse. If you couldn't return, she said, it was because you were prevented, not because you didn't want to come back."

"But you didn't believe that." Ed's lips twisted bitterly. "I read the letters in that book, remember? You kept begging me to come back, because it was getting more dangerous and you needed my help. And I never came back. I -- I never--"

"Listen, Ed. Listen. Think of the times. All of us were desperate, remember? Our world was going insane, very quickly, and all of us were begging someone or something for help. God, family, the rest of the world -- we cried to all of them for help, whoever we thought might save us. I wasn't the only one."

"I suppose you're right, but…"

"Nobody came for any of them," Gramps sighed. "There were young men whose fathers remained with them, and the fathers died beside the sons. That could well have been your fate, if you'd been there."

"None of those fathers," Ed glowered, "were the Fullmetal Alchemist. I could have done something, even if they couldn't."

Ducky leaned around to peer at him. "There you go, Terminator-boy. That's more like it. Got the old gleam back in your eye."

Ed jerked toward him with a retort on his tongue, but it vanished at the sight of the other's drawn, blotched face and swollen lip. The undamaged side of Ducky's mouth tilted into a sad little smile, his eyes red-rimmed and weary.

_This is Ducky's family, too,_ Ed thought with a deep pang. The other Hughes and Gracia, Elysia... Noah. They'd just been names to him before, and now they were his own family. His and Ed's.

Gramps -- Maes -- returned to the point. "But even you couldn't have 'done something' against the entire army of the Reich. The odds were so great, and help was coming from nowhere. You would probably have succeeded only in being killed."

"You can't know that," Ed protested. "After all, you managed to defeat them, in the end. You escaped the country, you and Elysia. You had the courage and the resourcefulness you needed, when the chance came."

The old man regarded him for a moment. "That's true," he conceded. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "I think I inherited them from my father."

"Gramps," Ducky blurted, plopping back against the couch cushions and clutching his hair with both hands. (In a gesture, Ed realized, eerily similar to his own, a minute ago.) "You have weirded me out beyond my weirdest nightmares this time. How you're gonna follow this one, I don't know."

"Relax, D," the old man grinned, "this is the one I've been working up to my whole life. Everything's downhill from here."

Ed peered from one to the other. The comforting hands remained on his shoulders, and he hadn't yet let go of the other man's arms. He squeezed a little, thoughtfully, with his left hand. "This is bizarre," he murmured. "I'm not sure how you can joke about this."

"Sometimes in your life you have to laugh, Ed," Maes reminded him, "unless you'd rather cry."

"I guess you're right. That's how Al and I have gotten by, all these years. We could always laugh and keep each other's spirits up." Ed's gaze sharpened and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Al's not going to believe this. He's going to want to see you. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he does."

"But can he?" the man asked. "You seemed to be in a hurry when you got here."

"He's right, Ed," Ducky said. "Remember how you didn't even want to waste time on this visit?"

"Oh sure, just rub it in, why don't you?"

"I don't mean it like that. I just mean we don't have much time. I don't know. Do you think we'll be able to turn around, get Al, come back, and leave again in time? And avoid the Feds?"

The two men's eyes met. Ed swallowed and bowed his head in resignation. "Damn," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter," Maes said. "The important thing is that you and I have seen each other. I'll meet your brother some other time. You can bring him then."

"That's the thing," Ed moaned around the tears rising again in his throat. "I can't. We're leaving very soon and... I don't think there's any way we can come back. Even I can't stay much longer. Not even now... when I've just found you... dammit..."

"Then we need to make the most of the time we've got, don't we?" Maes's hands moved, gently massaging Ed's good shoulder and the point on the other side of his neck where the mechanical arm joined his body. Instead of hurting as Ed expected, the sensation was soothing, and he felt the tension in his back and chest easing. "You need to learn not to be so tense about everything," the old man murmured.

Despite himself, Ed had to laugh a little. "You don't sound like any son of mine."

"I've calmed down over the years. You didn't see me when I was younger."

Ed swallowed hard. "No I didn't, did I?" he agreed, voice unsteady.

"I didn't mean it that way--"

"I know. But it's true -- I missed everything. So tell me," Ed blurted. "Tell me what you were like. Tell me about your life."

"There isn't much time for a long story, you know."

Ed's hands tightened on the arms of this man who was, unbelievably and miraculously, his son. "Then talk fast," he said.

Al tapped the flute thoughtfully against his chin as he leaned back against the tree, staring down the raven with narrowed eyes. He was pretty sure the bird would win any contest, but the stare-down gave him a focus point while he contemplated what to do next.

"Got any ideas?" he challenged, smiling to himself as he remembered how Singer used to talk to his avian companion. As expected, though, the raven said nothing, merely moving its feet slowly and deliberately as it stepped an inch to the left.

Al examined the musical instrument for about the hundredth time, again noting the carved motif: butterfly and wolf. He'd understood the "butterfly" nickname for his brother right away: Ed really was a vivid spirit flitting from place to place, landing only briefly before he was off again. The idea of the wolf was less clear, but Al suspected he'd come to understand it too, eventually. He did know that wolves had very strong family ties.

"All right," he said aloud, once again eyeing the raven. "I'm going to try something. If you make fun of me, I'll singe your feathers."

He put the flute to his mouth and closed his eyes. He let himself relax, thinking of his brother, but refusing to allow himself to worry this time. Instead, he pictured Ed at his brightest moments: the way his eyes lit up when he made a new alchemical discovery; how he glanced across a room at Al and grinned at a shared joke; how he shone with vitality when confronting a foe. What a blazing bright spirit he was!

_Butterfly_, Al thought, smiling. And sensed immediately when the change happened.

He opened his eyes, still playing, and watched the glowing rift appear in the air in front of him. It was maybe a foot high, shining with white light. And as it spread open a few inches, a cascade of brilliant orange butterflies flew out of it, hundreds of them, flooding into the little clearing where he sat. They swirled around the space in a riotous whirlwind of movement, alighting on the branches, on his hair, even on the end of the flute, then leaping off again to join their companions. Each one had a wingspan of about four inches, wings outlined in black, the orange flaring even more brightly in contrast.

The butterflies swooped and swirled around the clearing, images of perfect grace, and Al's heart swelled with joy at the sheer beauty. Each was like a tiny, living flame darting from branch to branch.

_Flame_. His mind wandered back to the party and the bonfire, to the first time he had used the flute and seen something like this. He hadn't realized it then, but now he knew exactly who he had touched back then. _Flame…_

The whispers grew gradually, at first easily mistaken for the whoosh and flutter of butterfly wings. But as the brilliant creatures continued to dance around the clearing, the sound grew slowly stronger, and at last he began to hear words.

"So you really think that should be the next stop?" The voice seemed to come from a great distance, but Al could have sworn it sounded like Lieutenant Havoc. He could almost hear the man smiling in that easygoing way of his.

With the next voice, there was no doubt at all. Roy Mustang replied almost immediately: "Yes. All the indications are there, and I'm absolutely sure. My friends – we are going to Rush Valley." Then, as the voice began to fade away, an abrupt question: "Listen. Do you hear music?"

Al gasped, lowering the flute. And he watched as all the butterflies suddenly rushed toward the glowing rift, flying through in a sweeping wave, back to the other place from which he'd drawn them. In mere seconds they were gone, and the glowing line in the air closed once more, vanishing as though it had never been.

The raven emitted one sharp caw, and fluttered from its perch to land on the ground in front of the boy. It fixed a dark eye on his face, and then just stood there, as though waiting for something.

"So he's alive," Al said breathlessly. "That's good. And he's right, you know. That's where we're going too. Rush Valley. That's where we're going."

They covered as much ground as possible in the short time they had. The story flew disjointedly from event to event, leaping back and forth between time periods. Ducky curled up at the end of the couch, listening in silence at first, his legs drawn up with his arms around his knees.

As Maes described a few things about life growing up with his mother, Ed groaned. "She must have had a very hard time of it. Being alone and unmarried, with a child."

"Not as hard as you would think," the other answered. "We had help from the Hughes family, over the years. Though we wandered around sometimes, as mother followed her trade."

"And what trade was that?" Ed asked, though he feared he already had a good idea.

"She sang, danced...," a pause, "...told fortunes."

"So she did keep doing it," Ed sighed. "I was never crazy about that fortune telling business. It made people uncomfortable, and that leads to trouble. I always hoped she'd do something more practical, like working in a shop."

"Mrs. Hughes let her work in the flower shop sometimes, but it didn't make enough money for two families, when Mr. Hughes started working there too."

"Why did he do that? He made good money as a policeman."

"He became uncomfortable with the way the police force was changing for the worse. He quit and helped Mrs. Hughes in the shop. So mother and I often left for a few months, to make our living in other ways." The older man opened his mouth as though to add more, but hesitated, brows drawn together as he frowned thoughtfully.

"What? Maes, tell me."

"You were right, about people being uncomfortable. It was mother's... work... that brought us to the Nazis' attention."

"I knew it. I _knew_ it would keep getting her into trouble. Why didn't she listen to me? Why did she keep doing it?"

"Edward," Maes reminded him gently, "she had a child to support."

Ed bowed his head. "Of course she did. And I had disappeared. So... what happened then, when things started getting worse?"

But that was a time period his son preferred to say very little about. "You read my letters," he said. "You already know some things about those days. I don't dwell on them now, and you must not either."

He was equally reticent about how he and Elysia escaped the country and made their way eventually to America. "Many people helped along the way," he mused slowly, eyes focused on distant memories. "There were many heroes that no one ever heard of in that war. We took our new names from some of them, before we left for America."

When the old man began to narrate stories of life in his new country, Ducky finally entered in, as his own parents and other relatives came into the picture. Grandfather and grandson flitted quickly from vignette to vignette about the sons, daughters, and eventually the grandchildren; about birthdays, weddings, and family reunions; and about the spread of the family across several American states.

Ed fell gradually out of the conversation, listening wide-eyed to the two of them -- his son and great-grandson, his own flesh and blood -- recounting in a few words the lives of a family he himself had founded. Demonstrating with laughter, rueful sighs, and the occasional rolling of the eyes what a vibrant, complex, sometimes raucous family it had become over the years.

Whether they had a conformist streak, as Ducky's mother did, channeled compassionate impulses into pioneering veterinary work, as Uncle James did, or carried the tinge of a black sheep, like Ducky himself, all of them attacked life with boundless energy and, above all, stubborn determination.

They were Elrics. Every last one of them, whether they knew it or not. And all of them were his, even if he'd never have the chance to meet them.

Ducky paused in the middle of a story about a skating mishap with his cousin Tiffany, and eyed his grandfather thoughtfully. "You know," he mused, "maybe they're not such a bad bunch after all. When you look at them from outside like this."

"Maybe they're not," Gramps agreed, adding with a grin, "but I'm still not sure your father was good enough for a daughter of mine."

"Oh, Gramps!" the younger man groaned, tossing a cushion at him, which the man easily dodged. This seemed to be an old, good-natured argument. "Well, Ed," Ducky laughed, "that's the whole story in a nutshell. What do you think?"

"I -- I don't know--" Ed stammered. "It's all... so..."

"It's pretty overwhelming all at once, isn't it?" Maes murmured.

"That sums it up, all right," Ed nodded. "But in a good way."

"Yeah, well, just try living with these people for a while," Ducky snorted.

"I'd... love that, actually. I've never... really..."

Gramps laid a hand on Ed's hair and gently smoothed it out of his eyes. "Never really had a family," he finished the thought. "So young, to lose your parents as you did."

"Only a little younger than you were."

"I'm glad you had your brother, though. He is well?"

"He is now. We both are, now that we've found each other again. We always do better when we're together."

"That's what Mother always told me," Gramps smiled.

Ducky leaned forward. "Which reminds me, Ed... I hate to say this, but it's probably time to get back to him. We're going to have to go."

"No -- not yet," Ed protested. "It's too soon, we've hardly had any time--"

"It's been hours. We're gonna get yelled at already, for being late." The other man reminded him soberly, "We're being looked for, remember? We've got to do this soon."

"Something big going down, Danny?" asked his grandfather.

Ducky hesitated. "Pretty big, yeah," he finally admitted. "In fact, we're going away for a while, with Reilly and some others. That's why I wanted to see you, actually. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"And I..." Ed swallowed and his jaw tightened. "I don't think I'll be able to come back at all."

"You're going home to the other world, aren't you?" said Maes, and smiled wryly as Ed's head jerked up in surprise. "You forget," he added, "Mother told me about it. I always wondered if that was what happened to you -- that you were taken back there, and that was why you couldn't return to us."

"It's a lot more complicated," Ed nodded, "but it was something like that."

"And now you have a chance to go back home. So of course you must leave in time." The old man slapped his hands on his knees and stood, walking to the bureau and briskly beginning to fold the red coat. "I'll send this with you," he said. "It belongs to you and your brother, and you'll want it back--"

Ed followed him to the bureau, stopping him with the touch of a hand on his arm. "No," he shook his head. "After all this time, it belongs to you. Think of it as an inheritance or something."

"Ed," Maes breathed. "Are you sure?"

"Do you want it?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then keep it. Think of it as the only thing I was ever able to give you."

"Not the only--" Yet again the old man cut himself short. He allowed himself a private smile as his thumbs rubbed lovingly on the fabric of the coat. "Never mind. Thank you. It's been my treasure for so long, it would be hard to lose it now." He finished folding the garment and set it back in its protective tissue, before closing the box and replacing it in the bureau.

Things moved so quickly, then, that Ed's head reeled. He insisted on helping take the tea things into the kitchen, mostly to prolong the final moments, but in no time the three men stood back on the porch, preparing to say good-bye. The sun, which had been almost overhead when they arrived, had now sunk far into the west, flooding the porch and the room behind the window with mellow afternoon light.

Grandfather and grandson faced each other, smiling. "Well, Gramps," Ducky said, "visits with you are always fun, but this one wins the prize so far."

"I'll see what I can dream up for next time," the old man promised, eyes twinkling. He cast a glance at Ed, remarking, "He's a good boy, you know."

Ed's lips quirked up. "You're not really supposed to tell him stuff like that. It'll go to his head. Young people these days, always so cocky..." But his half-hearted attempt at humor failed him, and his voice trailed away.

Those eyes again. So incongruous in that face, with that weathered olive skin and the grey hair that had once been as black as his mother's. That coloring was most definitely hers, and had probably determined the colour of Ducky's hair too. But those eyes... wide and full of light whether the man stood in shadow or sun... those were Ed's. And their warm, compassionate gaze was fixed on him now as he began to flounder.

"I... I just don't know what to say," Ed whispered, hands open helplessly at his sides.

Maes stepped forward and gripped his shoulders one last time, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the younger man's forehead. "Meeting you has been the crown of my life," he murmured. "Worth all the struggle it has taken to come to this moment. Thank you. Now go in peace and strength... my dear young father."

Ed's face crumpled and he flung himself into the other man's arms. "I don't want to go!" he wept. "I can't leave you. Not now."

The man held him, stroking his golden hair. "You can do this," he soothed. "I know how strong you are, and Alphonse needs you. Many people need you. Go, Ed. Do what the people you love need you to do. Go."

Ed gritted his teeth, nodding, and pulled himself away. Wiping his eyes with the back of his left hand, he gazed one more time into the bright, smiling eyes of his son, and managed to return the smile. "Thank you," he said. "If it means anything, I -- I'm proud of what you've done with your life. I -- I--" He took a shuddering breath and was almost overwhelmed again. "Goodbye, Maes," he choked, then turned on his heel and literally fled to the van.

They watched him run down the walk and fling himself through the gate. _Oh no, the gate!_ Ducky thought forlornly. _I never oiled it like I was going to. And now it's too late._

Gramps caught his attention again, drawing him into a tight embrace. "Be careful, Danny," he said. "Whatever you're involved in -- be careful."

"Oh, always, Gramps," Ducky grinned crookedly. "You know I always muddle through somehow, no matter what happens. I guess I've got the genes for it, don't I?"

The older man laughed softly, releasing him. "I know you do." His eyes flickered past his grandson toward the lone figure slumped with drooping head against the side of the van. "He's the one who really needs help, even if he won't admit it. He's taken care of everyone else for so long, he doesn't accept help for himself. So I want you to take care of him now. Will you do that for me, Daniel?"

Ducky's grin faded, and he regarded his grandfather solemnly. "I've been trying," he answered. "He doesn't always like it."

"I'm sure. But you'll find a way. You're an Elric, after all. And... he really does need you."

"I'll do the best I can, Gramps. I promise." Ducky followed his grandfather's gaze toward the van and smiled ruefully. "I guess we'd better go. I'll fill you in on everything when I get back. Just make sure you're here waiting." He gave the elderly man a final long, fervent hug, then pulled away and hopped down the porch steps. He winced at the squeak of the gate as he pulled it shut behind him.

Ed didn't even look up as he approached and unlocked the door on the passenger side. The other man just climbed into the van without a word, and huddled down into the passenger seat, staring blankly at his hands clenched in his lap. In just a moment, Ducky was in his own seat, and had the motor running. Wordlessly he leaned past Ed, and waved again to his grandfather. He waited briefly in case his companion wanted to wave too, but Ed sat with bowed head, arms now hugged tightly across his chest as he fought to stifle his weeping.

Time to go. Ducky changed gears and slowly eased the van away from the curb, heading down the street.

He didn't expect conversation, but he heard Ed stir beside him, and whisper, "So once again... I abandon him."

"Oh, Ed, no--" Ducky began.

"Don't," Ed cut him off. "Not right now. Please."

_Damn tears_, Ducky thought. He couldn't let them obscure his vision. Blinking furiously, he slowed as he approached the intersection at the end of the block, and turned onto the busier street that would lead them back to the highway. After a moment, though, he ventured another word. "I just want you to know. If I had any clue about this, I'd have gotten you here a long time ago, no matter what anyone else wanted. So you'd have more time."

"I know you would," Ed answered, his words slightly muffled, face hidden by the fall of his hair. "You... you understand. About family."

_I want you to take care of him now. Will you do that for me, Daniel?_

Ducky gulped down a fresh threat of tears and took a couple of deep breaths, still blinking. "I think I understand better now," he said quietly.

The old man stood on the porch he had built, many years ago now, to showcase the flowers his wife had loved so much. Her presence had been very much with him today, from the moment he opened the door and looked upon the face of his father. She was with him still, in a way she hadn't been for almost three years. The two of them had always known this day would come. How she would have loved to have been here when it did.

Utterly still, he watched the van progress down the street until it finally turned the corner and disappeared, taking his father and his grandson away. He gazed at the empty road for a very long time, eyes distant, remembering so many things that only he and his wife had ever shared, as they had waited for this moment. At last he smiled fondly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"It's done," Maes said softly. "I've seen him at last, my Elysia, and sent him on his way like an arrow. We're going to be all right now."


	42. Ch 29a Click Your Heels Together Three T

**"Click Your Heels Together Three Times"  
Arc One: Chapter 29  
Balance of Power**

**Part One**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, **SPOILER HEAVY** and just a bit AU **

**September 2, 1919  
Rush Valley, Amestris**

Winry stood before the small mirror hanging crookedly from a peg, scrubbing the black streaks from her forearms beneath the outdoor shower. They'd had an extraordinary amount of business lately -- seven new customers this last month alone! It was the quakes -- a lot of smaller towns had been devastated; their remoteness hindering medical aid, thus hindering treatment for wounds. Limbs that ordinarily could have been saved were now so gangrenous they were forced to amputate. Though many people opted either to go without or use simple prosthetics. However, there were enough people who were still willing to brave the pain of surgery to gain the freedom that automail offered.

Personally not minding the feel of grease on her skin, Winry still frowned at the bull-headed stains refusing to remove themselves from her normally clear flesh. And yet, she mused, there were worse things that could cling to skin and clog beneath fingernails. Never weak of heart or prone to squeamishness, she'd still seen enough blood and gore over the last month to remove a layer of impersonality so necessary for her chosen field.

Plunging her fingers back under the steady flow of water, she let them hang for a while in the sun-warmed deluge. Were it later in the day, she'd give in to the compulsion to immerse her entire body beneath the spray. As it was, there were two more customers waiting for a fitting, and Mr. Dominic would likely chew her ass as it was for letting their income grow stale in the small room off the surgery bay. Sighing, she finally killed the feed -- letting the lovely rain drizzle down to small patters of individual drops.

Swiping at her shining arms with a convenient rag, she glanced upward at the gleaming walls towering about her. Even tucked in this secluded courtyard behind the shop, she was still struck by this place, by its beauty. Rush Valley! She knew her first word was wrench; she was pretty sure the second and third were the name of this magnificent place. A dream since it was first presented to her as the Eden of automail by her grandmother -- cemented as her future after the first bolt she turned. Even after all this time, the thrill of living in this city had not abated.

"Hey Princess, these people are developing liver spots while you're mooning at the walls, let's go!"

Ah yes... what a thrill.

"I'm coming Mr. Dominic!"

Snagging her tape as she ducked back inside, she couldn't help an inner smile. The man might bark, but she knew first hand what a softy he really was. Rubbing one shoulder where her muscles tended to stiffen, she pushed into the waiting room. "Okay, where's the first victim?"

Not really a shocker that the two men exchanged glances and backed away. Taking the triage route to expedite things, Winry grabbed the arm of the slightly less ashen man, dragging him through the doorway towards the room opposite the prepping area. There were no surgeries today -- always a plus when dealing with twitchy first-timers. Somehow the sounds of screams always left them shaking, which made it harder to get an accurate measurement.

"Do you know anyone with automail?"

She'd learned through the years that getting them talking always helped prospective clients deal with the fear of their upcoming operation. Specifically, talking about the surgery itself.

"My uncle... lost a leg in the Central Invasion."

Winry nodded. Almost always they knew someone -- usually a family member. The man before her had lost his hand and a portion of his arm up to the elbow. Within the last month given the level of healing. "You've probably heard a lot of stories about how painful automail attachment is."

The man swallowed, leaning back a little as Winry pulled the tape along the length of his undamaged forearm.

"Yeah... Uncle Mel likes to lay it on real thick -- especially around the younger crowd. I know it's mostly hot air and I shouldn't listen to it..."

Winry began measuring his fingers. "Actually he probably toned it down. Automail surgery is probably the most painful thing you'll ever experience."

"Except childbirth!" exclaimed a female voice just before the speaker entered the room.

Winry rolled her eyes as she wrote down measurements next to a quick sketch on her pad. "Yes, okay Paninya, except childbirth."

The young woman chuckled as she stepped over the threshold, stomach first. "I really don't know why you torture them like that, Rockbell." She peeled back her sleeve first, then bent slowly, and very awkwardly, to pull up her dress to her knees, exposing the gleaming metal beneath. "I had this done when I was just a kid. Trust me -- carting an extra thirty pounds in your gut is way more uncomfortable!"

Winry wasn't sure how this was actually helping -- the grey hue to the man's skin leaning more towards green at this point.

At any rate, she had finished with the man and was ready for the next guy. If he actually followed through with his appointment, he could come back in a week for the first surgery involving implantation of the automail ports. He was standing shakily when Winry made a final attempt to put him at ease.

"I've seen worse. This is just a lower arm... you won't even need that many adjustments, and the weight differential between the automail and flesh arm will be minimal. It's a lot worse when the whole arm is gone because you actually have to cut open the torso and reinforce the skeleton to handle the extra weight..."

The green shade darkened, and the man suddenly spun to stumble from the room.

"Bathroom's on the left!"

Winry glared up at the other woman still hovering over her. "You know, I was doing okay on my own."

Her friend giggled. "That's a joke right? You do realize even your regulars are afraid of you right?"

Winry couldn't help smiling in response, though the observation dug a little. It wasn't the jib -- she knew very well that her enthusiasm could sometimes be a tad… off-putting. No, it was the mention of regulars. And as always, a portion of her mind immediately considered a particular regular-- And then she brushed past it. She still had one more customer to see, and assuring someone that they'd made the right choice in spite of the excruciating surgery was hard enough without being moody besides.

Constructing a grin, she sat back on her heels. "You mind sending in the last customer?"

Studying the other woman, her expression clearly saying she knew exactly what the automail mechanic was thinking, Paninya nodded. "Sure… no problem!"

Alone for a few seconds, Winry looked up at the wall, eyes taking in the partially finished drawing hanging above her. A new design… innovative… and it would never advance beyond ink.

Turning away from it quickly as the final client of the evening entered the room, she smiled brightly. "Why not have a seat right here and we'll get started." Grabbing her tape again, she started to measure. "So, tell me, do you know anyone else with automail?"

**__________**

**September 3, 1919  
Central City, Amestris**

Scieszka heard the door of the office open slowly, and heard the distinctive creak of that one floorboard that accompanied the footsteps approaching her desk. Glancing in reflex from between two rows of bookcases behind the desk, she confirmed yet again that the piles of books on the desk were too high for her to see who had come in. She had to get around to those, one of these days...

"Be right there!" she called, struggling to carry the too-tall stack of books she'd brought back with her to replace on the shelves.

"Private Scieszka, General Hakuro wants to see you immediately," came a crisp answering voice. "Please come with me. That is... where are you, exactly?"

Back among the bookcases, Scieszka gasped and almost lost her balance, one of the bookcases saving her from falling over altogether. The pile of books in her arms swayed a little as her shoulder banged into a shelf, but she managed to keep them from dropping.

Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Morgan, Hakuro's right-hand man. What was he doing here? And... what had he said? General Hakuro wanted to see _her_?

"Coming!" she called back, searching quickly for a place to set down her little book tower. No chance of reshelving them now. She staggered back toward the desk, resigned to adding this pile to the others already obscuring her view.

As she set the books down on one of the remaining open spaces on the desktop, Lieutenant Colonel Morgan himself rounded the wall of books and peered at her, dark eyes mystified under his mop of unruly brown hair. "What do you do with these all day?" he wondered. "Why aren't these books just kept in Central Library?"

"These are reference materials of a pretty confidential nature," she informed him, straightening her glasses, "and they're consulted so often that they created this room especially for these books." She straightened her glasses again, unnecessarily, and asked, "So are you sure General Hakuro wants to see me? Does he need some special research done or something?"

The man's curiosity faded and he drew his shoulders back, just slightly, putting on what Scieszka thought of as his "official face." He responded, "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. But he does want to see you right away."

She followed him out of the small library office, pausing long enough to lock the door behind her. Then Morgan led her through the long halls of Central military headquarters and up several staircases, heading for the upper levels of the building whence General Hakuro and his staff controlled the forces of Amestris.

She was already nervous, wondering why she had been sent for in the first place -- although she did have her suspicions. But from the glances that followed her as she walked alongside the Lieutenant Colonel, imagines began to spring into her mind, of prisoners being led in chains to their execution, or criminals being escorted before a judge. She tried to laugh them off, but when Morgan took an odd detour, leaving a staircase at the end of one wing of the building and walking needlessly toward another staircase in the middle of the wing, she really wondered.

Because this was the floor where General Mustang's suite of offices was located. And as they passed that particular door, out of the corner of her eye Scieszka saw Morgan watching her intently. She kept her face expressionless and took care not to react differently to that door than to any other. But now a cold lump of fear had settled into her stomach.

Her fears were confirmed almost the moment Patrick Morgan ushered her into Hakuro's office. As the man guided her to the side area where the general waited by the coffee table and chairs, and then retreated back to the outer office, Scieszka bowed to Hakuro and obediently seated herself when the man indicated a chair.

As he poured her tea, his eyes never leaving the amber stream as it flowed into her cup, he said, "Now, my dear. Let's talk about Roy Mustang, shall we?"

Oh boy. She really was in big, big trouble. And Roy Mustang was miles away. She'd have to play this as dumb as she possibly could. Scieszka adopted her widest gaze and replied, "Sure, General Hakuro, I guess that would be nice. I'll be happy to hear anything you want to tell me about him."

Hakuro smiled. He picked up his own cup and took a sip of tea, regarding her over the china rim. "It seems to me, young lady, that you should do the 'telling', since you would know a lot more about him than I would."

"Me?" she feigned surprise. "Oh, you mean because I worked with his friend Maes Hughes for a while? I'm afraid Mr. Hughes -- I mean, the Brigadier-General -- didn't talk about Colonel Mustang all that much. That is, he was Colonel Mustang then. He's General Mustang now. But I guess you know that. I mean, of course you know that, what am I saying?"

"But I'm sure you know him better than you claim," Hakuro interrupted. "After all, didn't he send you to Vinland recently?"

"Vinland? Send?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh no, sir, he didn't 'send' me anywhere. That is, he got me leave to go east, but that was only after he'd heard that my mother's health had suddenly gotten so bad. I've never been to Vinland, I'm afraid. But I've heard it's a very interesting place." She hoped fervently that Hakuro hadn't already investigated to find out that her mother was as healthy as a very healthy horse.

He didn't seem to have. "So that's the only reason you went away? Your mother was sick? And you never went to Vinland at all?"

"Yes sir. I mean no - I've never been to Vinland. But yes, my mother is much better now, but it was really touch and go for a little while."

"Why did General Mustang take such an interest, if the two of you are such strangers?"

"Well, we're not exactly strangers -- we don't know each other that well, but we're polite in the hall, and things like that. I think it really does go back to the Brigadier-General, though. I get the impression General Mustang was being nice to me because he knew Mr. Hughes had liked me. And I really liked him."

"I see. So if I were to ask you where General Mustang has been the last few days... what would you say?" Hakuro's blue eyes were sharp as icicles, watching her reaction as he asked the question.

And that question, Scieszka realized, was why she was here. She'd guessed it, from his first words to her, so at least she was prepared. She met his gaze with her own surprised expression. "Where he is? Well... he's around here, isn't he? I'm sure I saw him a couple of days ago. Didn't I? I'm not sure what you mean, General Hakuro." Puzzled, but cooperative. That was the way to play this.

"I mean that he's been absent for several days. And I want to know where he is."

"Begging your pardon, General, but are you sure? I know I ran into Breda and Falman just yesterday, and they're always around when General Mustang is. Pardon me, I mean Second Lieutenant Breda and Warrant Offi--"

"Will you quit worrying about everyone's rank!" Hakuro exclaimed. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath. "I merely mean that that's not important at the moment. I just want to find out where General Mustang is. Are you sure you don't know?"

"If he's not here, sir, then I don't have a clue where he is, I'm sorry. What does Captain Hawkeye say about it?"

"Captain Hawkeye -- and Lieutenant Havoc too, I might add -- seem to have disappeared right along with General Mustang." He stared back at her as she fixed him with her most dubious stare. Finally, unable to help himself, he broke down and asked, "What? What is it?"

"Well...," she said as apologetically as she could manage, "I wouldn't dream of wanting to contradict you, General -- I'm sure you must know better than I do -- but all the same, I could have sworn I saw Lieutenant Havoc yesterday, with Second Lieuten -- with Breda and Falman. But maybe I'm thinking of last week, I don't know. I can go months without seeing any of them, and then I run into them four days in a row. I'm sure it can be that way for you sometimes. Oh, but not in this case, I don't mean to imply--"

"Yes, yes, I understand what you mean," Hakuro waved that suggestion aside. He had begun to exhibit that look of exasperation that Scieszka had seen on many a face in her day, when she really got going. She'd never been so happy to see that expression in her life. It meant that he'd finally concluded that she probably didn't know anything.

Sure enough, he very quickly steered the conversation into more general topics, and their little tea party ended shortly afterward. When they had finished, he bowed, thanked her for coming, wished her mother good health, and asked Lieutenant-Colonel Morgan to take her back to her library office.

She assured Morgan that he didn't need to trouble, and she could find her own way back, and finally she was free. She walked sedately down the wide, echoing hall, just in case one of them was watching her, but when she reached the nearest staircase she literally flew down the stairs and almost ran the rest of the way. When she had finally achieved the safety of the office, she shut and locked the door behind her and, leaning against it, at last allowed herself to tremble.

She'd fooled them this time, and lived to tell the tale. But she wasn't sure she could carry it off a second time. She hoped to goodness that General Mustang and the others would soon finish what they were doing in Rush Valley, and get back here to defend themselves.

**__________**

**September 4, 1919  
Eastern Amestris**

After he'd woken up and visited the men's room, the steady rhythm of the wheels on the train tracks might have lulled Jean back to sleep -- as it had done hours ago to Roy and Riza in the seat across the aisle -- but he had too much on his mind to settle back into slumber. The four of them were due to arrive in Rush Valley in a couple of hours, at dawn, and who knew what would happen once they got there. So they'd all been trying to relax as much as possible while en route.

All of them, actually, except Armstrong. When Jean had gotten up a few moments ago, he'd seen him standing outside, on the platform at the rear of the car they were riding in, the last car on the train. The big man had stood there an awful lot during this two-day trip. So much that Jean now wondered, fighting a sudden urge to laugh, if the wheels at the front of this car might be lifting off the tracks a little, with all that extra weight at the very end.

When Armstrong had occasionally come in to sit down, he had tended to sit separately from the others, only rarely joining them, mostly when Roy called a whispered "strategy session."

Jean had gone back to Armstrong's spot to chat a couple of times, but when he'd asked why the man wasn't sitting with the rest of them, Armstrong had answered that since he took up so much space, he'd decided not to crowd them. It had been a perfectly plausible explanation.

And when asked why he was spending so much time on that back platform outside, he'd answered, equally plausibly, that he was so tall that he had to hunch a little any time he stood up inside the train. So whenever he wanted to stretch his legs, it was easier just to go out there where he could stand up straight.

It was all perfectly sensible. And Jean wasn't buying it for a minute.

He stood abruptly and stretched his lean form, lifting his arms above his head. His fingertips came within five inches of the ceiling car. He passed several other dozing passengers as he walked down the center aisle toward the back, and a few, as his shadow fell across them, opened a bleary eye to note his passing before dropping immediately back into sleep.

Armstrong spared him barely a glance as he stepped out to join the man on the platform. The night sky above was clear, glittering with stars, and the shape of the rolling hills on either side of the tracks could only be dimly perceived as a deeper darkness edging up into the dark of the sky. They could see lights from a farm yard on a hill, distant in the west. But the only other light came from the three regulation lamps along the top edge of the train car just above their heads. It cast Armstrong's long, wide shadow at three angles across the track receding behind the train, so that the shadow itself seemed almost bulky. Jean's shadow appeared wraith-like by comparison.

The night was warm, but there was enough wind whipping past them to make Jean glad of the thickness of his uniform. You wouldn't have wanted to stand out here in shirtsleeves, unless the sun was shining.

He leaned both hands on the polished wooden rail as his companion edged to the left, to give him more room. "Have you been out here all night? You were here when I dozed off, a few hours ago," Jean observed.

"I sat inside for a while," the big man murmured. "But the night is so peaceful, I wanted to enjoy it."

"Oh? The calm before the storm, maybe?"

"Perhaps. After the general's experience last time he tried this, it might be wise to be prepared for further trouble."

"I hear you," Jean said as he absently scratched his chin. His face hadn't been anywhere near a razor since just before they'd left Risembool and his beard had reached the stage where it was beginning to irritate.

"I wish he could have waited a few days longer, to give his arm more time to heal."

"I guess he didn't want to delay any more," Jean responded, "in case the boys are going to try again on the other side."

"That is understandable," Armstrong nodded.

He said nothing more, and Jean glanced up, watching him for a moment. The man met his eyes briefly, but seemed to shy away, determined to gaze in silence out into the darkness. He'd been very subdued for the entire trip. Since Roy's delirious ravings in Risembool, in fact.

Jean turned around, leaned his hips back against the rail, and crossed his arms. Through the window in the door he could look down the long aisle and discern the two of them, almost at the other end: Riza's golden head half-buried in a pillow she'd wedged between shoulder, neck, and window, and Roy's dark hair falling across his eye as he dozed, left cheek and dark bandanna pressed against the glass.

"So tell me," Jean said casually, "have you known from the very beginning that Maes Hughes was still alive?"

**__________**

**September 5, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

Ed heard the phrase of music shrill through his dreams, and then repeat, but as he drew closer to wakefulness, a voice gradually eased into his awareness. He heard someone say, "Hey there," as he withdrew with difficulty from a series of frenetic dreams of the Gate and explosions and crying babies. It was like tugging himself out of a mire of sucking mud, but the cheery bounce of the voice drew him slowly back to reality.

"...that quickly, huh? Well, we kind of expected it, didn't we? .... No, Reilly, the turnoff is really close. We're almost there, so keep your shirt on. Or no, on second thought -- don't."

Ed lifted his head from where it had been leaning against the window on the passenger side, and blinked at Ducky, who currently held the cell away from his ear while several squawks emitted from it like aural punctuation marks. The young man rolled his eyes at Ed, then pressed the phone to his ear again, eyes on the road, steering with his free hand.

"Yeah, well, if this isn't the right time, I don't know what is. You know you love me. If you're still mad when we get there, I'll let you spank me. But are all of you together now? Ed needs to talk to his brother."

A pause, while Ducky continued steering, waiting for something at the other end of the phone line. Ed blinked again, realizing that the sun was coming up. He vaguely remembered peering out into the darkness of the countryside as his companion had pulled over for a nap during the night, but now he could see the wide gray ribbon of the road moving steadily past beneath him, even without the van's headlights.

"Hey, there," Ducky spoke again. "Hold on a sec, I'll get him." He held the phone out, sparing a quick glance at his passenger before turning his attention to the road. "Terminator Junior on line one. You up for it?"

Ed clenched his jaws as the memories flooded back. The image of an old man with golden eyes rushed into his mind.

_Al._ Oh yes. He was up for it.

He took the cell and murmured, "Hey."

_"Brother! Good morning. Sorry if I woke you."_

Ed closed his eyes, determined not to let the tears start again. It was so good to hear his brother's voice. "Don't worry," he said. "I was already awake. I think we're getting close to you guys."

_"That's what Reilly said. We're at the ravine, and I'm going to start drawing the circle. But I wanted to tell you -- guess what! I know how to use the flute."_

Ed's eyes flew open. In the emotional mess of meeting his son _(his son!)_, he'd almost forgotten the reason Al had sent him away in the first place. "You do? That's fantastic. But are you sure? That was really quick."

_"Llyn helped me. I'll tell you when you get here."_

"Llyn helped you? How would he know how to use your flute?"

_"It's hard to explain. But like I said, I'll tell you later. How are you feeling? That's really why I wanted to talk to you."_

Of course that would be Al's main concern. Ed had to smile as he pictured his brother frowning in worry at the other end. But already his brother's enthusiasm about the flute had begun to lift his own spirits. "I'm fine, Alphonse, don't worry about me. In fact, I'm even better, hearing about the flute. That must've been some practice session. So I guess you were right, after all?"

_"I'm always right,"_ Al laughed.

Ed couldn't help a little answering laugh. "Yes, you always are," he agreed. "And I should listen to you more often."

_"I should be recording this."_

Ed let his head fall back against the headrest as he laughed again, shaking his head. "Al... it's so good to talk to you," he murmured.

_"Why? What do you mean? Are you really okay?"_

Ed smiled fondly, watching the fence posts move swiftly past along the side of the road. "I promise," he said, "I'm fine. I've got some things to tell you, too. And then -- we're going home."

_"Yes, we really are this time."_ He could picture Al's bright eyes and happy grin. _"Which means I'd better start on the transmutation circle."_

"All right, but be careful. I'll be there soon."

Ducky took the cell back and stuck it in a pocket. "So Term Junior learned the flute. Cool."

"You know," Ed drawled, half-turning and leaning his shoulder against the passenger door and ignoring the slight twinge in his collarbone as he did so, "you ought to learn to talk about your uncle with a little more respect."

He smiled at Ducky's surprised glance, before the other answered with a grin. "Not in this lifetime, old man."

"Kids today," Ed shook his head in mock mournfulness. He noticed the young man eyeing him, and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Are you... really okay, then? I know it was... pretty tough, finding out and then leaving."

The swelling of Ducky's lip was just visible on the other side of his face as he looked at Ed, before turning back to the road. Ed studied him for a moment, trying to discern any traces of himself in the profile. Not the dark hair or green eyes -- the hair might be from Noah, and the eyes probably came from the Maes Hughes of the past, but they certainly weren't from him. Maybe the nose, but that wasn't saying much; noses were pretty generic unless they were huge or oddly shaped. The slender build, maybe? But maybe not that either. Ed had always suspected he might have been naturally stockier, like Al, if he hadn't had to use up so much bodily energy carrying the weight of his automail. But of course he'd never really know.

Maybe he'd detect something in the brighter light of day, but so far, it didn't look as though Ducky had gotten anything from him. He was surprised at his own disappointment.

"Ed?" Ducky cast him another glance, this time tinged with anxiety. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. Don't worry. Everything's fine. Now that I know he's alive -- that he didn't die, and had such a good, long life -- everything's better than fine. I'm grateful that I met him, at least. I just wish..." Ed shrugged, turning his face away and blinking self-consciously.

"Wish you didn't have to leave," Ducky finished quietly. "I know. I'm sorry about that."

"But at least I met him," Ed repeated.

"And you found Al, and we got him free, and you got rid of Bond, and now you're going home."

"We are. It's so hard to believe, after all this time." Ed felt his spirits lift again, but with nothing like the intensity he'd expected. It felt like this whole 24 hour period was filling up with unbelievable events, and it was hard to absorb all of them.

They were going home. _Home_. The thought still barely made a dent in his emotions. It would become more real once he saw his brother, though, he was sure of that.

But Ducky seemed to be brimming with enough excitement for both himself and Ed. He grinned over again, eyes glinting with hilarity, with that smile that Ed was starting to identify with the word "shark."

"The turnoff is just ahead," he said, voice thrumming with anticipation. "And somewhere over there the feds are getting close, and Redfeather's guys are warming up, and all our friends are hanging, just waiting for us. And Al's going to play that flute, and open up a great big dimensional wormhole, just for you. Edward Elric, are you ready for your final big adventure in this world?"

_**That's**__ what he got from me,_ Ed thought, as a sudden burst of warmth stirred within him. "Let's hope so," he smiled at his companion. "I guess I'd better be, eh?"

"Aye, Kepten," Ducky said, imitating a space officer on one of those shows of his, that Slavic guy. "And here we go! Engage!" He negotiated the turnoff at such speed that Ed felt like they were flying.

And as they turned left around the corner, Ed caught one last glimpse of the road they'd been traveling on, a quick, vanishing backdrop behind the profile of his great grandson. At long last, he was leaving everything in this world behind him, and going home.

_Maes._


	43. Ch 29b Click Your Heels Together Three T

**"Click Your Heels Together Three Times"  
Arc One: Chapter 29  
Balance of Power**

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, **SPOILER HEAVY** and just a bit AU **

**September 5, 1919  
Rush Valley, Amestris**

"So when do you expect you'll try again?" Havoc asked. "And have you decided where to set up your array?"

Roy frowned across the table and murmured, "Keep it down, Havoc. We don't want anyone to overhear." He glanced furtively over his shoulder at the sparse sprinkling of early morning patrons. Fortunately there weren't many of them this early, and the five or six people who had found this little place were passengers who'd just arrived on the train, as he and his companions had. Everyone was still pretty bleary from the trip, and he was willing to bet that their powers of observation were at a low ebb right now.

And nobody was likely to recognize the three of them anyway. They had waited till all the other passengers had gotten off the train, and then had quickly changed into the alternate clothing Pinako had found for them before they'd left her house. Havoc was hardly recognizable in his heavy blue jacket, shaggy red wig, and several days' growth of beard -- also red.

Riza, sitting next to Roy, wore a pair of Winry's old overalls and a red and black checked shirt, her short black wig and round glasses making her appear positively boyish. It was... rather a nice look on her, actually, Roy reflected...

He dragged his attention away, pulled his wide-brimmed black hat further down above the bandanna still covering his eye, and shifted a little in his long black trench coat. Jean had laughed and called him vain when he'd first put it on, but Roy felt it made him look rather dashing. Riza hadn't expressed an opinion, but when he'd come out of the men's room on the train, in his new garb, she had smiled as she'd grabbed her small suitcase and headed down the aisle toward the exit.

Now the three of them sat in the little cafe half a block from the train station, ravenous for breakfast, and ready to kill a little time while the rest of the town woke up. Armstrong had gone scouting, claiming that he felt he'd draw too much attention if he joined them in the restaurant. Roy didn't think that was the only reason he'd vanished, but... they'd have to sort all that out later. When he had either succeeded or failed at this one last attempt to bring the boys home.

He settled his right arm on the table, still in its sling, and wiggled the fingers experimentally. It hadn't been a bad break, and it was already healing. He was sure the arm would be good enough at least for the transmutation.

"I might do it later today," he finally said. "Or more likely this time tomorrow. We'll need to ask around, and find out where the tremors were, so I can set up as close as I can to the epicenter."

"It's that important to do it right on that spot?" Hawkeye wondered. "What if it was under a bank or in the middle of a school or something?"

"I'm sure it will work if I'm not in the exact spot," Roy conceded, "but it's wise to be as close as possible, so the connection is as strong as it can be."

"You all ready to order?" came a lazy voice from the end of the table, and they turned to see a yawning, aproned, middle-aged waitress standing there, notepad poised. She cast a glance at Roy, raising her eyebrows, but he shook his head.

"Sorry, give me a minute," he responded.

"Sure. How about your wife?"

"She's my sister." "She's his daughter." "I'm just his friend."

The three of them stared at each other. Then Hawkeye lifted her menu and turned, straight-faced, to the waitress. "Bacon and scrambled eggs for me. And coffee," she said.

Havoc folded his menu. "Same here," he said, "but make my eggs over easy."

Roy handed over his own menu, saying, "Sausage and eggs, brown toast, and make the coffee as strong as possible please."

The waitress departed, and Roy glared at Havoc. "My _daughter?_" he repeated acidly.

Havoc grinned. "Well, for all the waitress knows, boss, your hair is white under that ridiculous hat. And Riza looks almost young enough, in that getup."

"You're both ridiculous," Hawkeye smiled, folding her hands on the table. "Though I'm impressed at how quickly your beard grows, Jean. I wouldn't have guessed how red it was."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You should see a couple of my uncles. Their beards are so bright you can almost hurt your eyes, looking at them."

A shadow fell briefly across the table as someone passed by the window outside. Roy murmured, "I wonder where Armstrong went."

"I'm sure he's lurking around somewhere," Havoc replied.

Hawkeye chuckled. "If it's even possible for someone that size to 'lurk'." She moved her hands as the waitress returned with a coffee pot and cups.

Havoc leaned back in his chair to give the woman some room as she poured, stretching his arms out as he yawned. "What I'm looking forward to," he remarked fervently, "is sleeping in a real bed again. Two nights on that train, and I think every muscle is stiff."

Hawkeye slid a cup over to Roy, where he curled his left hand around it and stared into the hot, life giving liquid. "We'll check into a hotel tonight," he said, "and probably stay tomorrow night too. And hopefully we'll almost have doubled the size of our group by then."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Havoc glance sharply at him, but didn't have time to wonder about it, for suddenly another voice interrupted from the space at the end of the table just vacated by the waitress. "General Mustang? What in the world are you doing here? And what is that you're _wearing?_"

That voice. The one voice above all others that he dreaded hearing. His stomach clenching, Roy dragged his head around, forcing himself to look up. And there, as he'd expected, stood Winry Rockbell, staring at him, completely undeceived by the disguise.

**__________**

**September 5, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

"Al," said Heist. "Your bird's staring at me. Make him stop."

Reilly glanced over to where Al was using a small broom to sweep clean a large patch of dirt near the lip of the ravine. In the vague dawn light, she almost imagined that she saw his left shoulder hunch slightly, as though to block the view of the large raven maintaining a solemn vigil, perched on a bush at the far edge of the open patch of ground.

"He's not my bird," the boy replied, not looking up from his task. "I'm sure you can scare him away if you just wave your arms."

"Brother Raven doesn't scare easily," Redfeather remarked, from the closer side of area, nearer to where Reilly, Tom, and Maes stood conferring.

"He's just curious," Llyn added. "Nothin' t'be nervous about." He stood beside Heist, his hand hovering near hers, but not quite touching. Reilly decided it was rather cute, and wondered how long it would be before he finally committed himself, and just grabbed it. She wondered, actually, how long it would be before _she_ gave in to the temptation to just to go over there and smush their hands together and get it over with!

"Anyway," Maes put in, "he's probably not looking at you at all, Heist. He's probably too interested in the way Al is sweeping the dirt off the... dirt."

Reilly snorted in a most unladylike way, and Maes grinned at her. His excitement was palpable this morning; after all, this time their attempt to go home was going to succeed. She could read the confidence in the lift of his head and the jutting of his chin, perceive the anticipation in the brightness of his green eyes and the flashing of his teeth. He was going home today.

_Don't think about it. Save that for later._

Just as she caught the first glimpse of something in Maes' eyes that might soon turn to pity, she turned back to Tom and returned to the business at hand. "So anyway. Ducky said he was close to the turnoff, so they should only be a few more minutes. He'll hardly have to detour at all."

"And once they get here, we say our goodbyes and that's that?" Tom said. He watched her thoughtfully as he asked, and she wondered what bothered him about the question. Everything was pretty straightforward at this point, after all.

"Of course," she nodded. "But what I don't get," she added, turning her attention back toward Al's activity, "is why he's going to draw another circle. I thought the flute was supposed to take the place of the circle this time."

She hadn't spoken loudly, but Al seemed to be listening to the surrounding conversations even as he worked. He straightened up for a moment. "The circle won't be for opening the Gate, exactly," he explained. "It's more for stabilizing the forces so they don't get out of control while it opens. It's for our protection while we're in the circle, but it also keeps the energy from flowing outward and doing harm to you and the others."

"Not to mention," Hughes put in, "keeping you from blowing up the world?"

Al flashed a quick smile. "Something like that," he agreed. He shared a long look with Llyn, and bent back to his work. Reilly gathered that Llyn had somehow helped the youngster to learn how to play the instrument Singer had given him, so it wasn't surprising that there now seemed to be a considerable bond between them.

A lot of bonds had been formed since that day Ed had appeared almost on her doorstep all those months ago. And a lot of them were about to be broken.

_Later. Not now._

Hughes sidled up to her and murmured in her ear, "So, d'you think he's going to sweep right down to the bedrock?"

She snorted again, and whispered back, "I doubt it needs to be quite this flat. I think he's just keeping himself calm till Ed gets here."

"Reilly..." He hesitated. "Look, I just want to say -- "

"Don't, Maes. Don't even start, okay? We're cool, so don't worry about that now." She let expression soften into a warm smile as she reached up and cupped his face. "You're going home. Don't carry any regrets with you, please?"

Maes took her hand and lightly kissed her palm, then said, "I promise."

She searched his face for a long quiet moment, looking for any indication that he was just saying that to make her happy. Finally, she whispered, "You never gave up hope." Then she turned and strode over to Tom's side near the treeline with her back straight. It was good that he was going home, after all. He didn't belong here. And Reilly was damned if she was going to let his last image of her be a tearful one.

**__________**

**Rush Valley**

They halted outside the diner, a few feet down the sidewalk near the corner of the building, to avoid being on display to patrons looking out of the wide window. (Though Roy knew that Hawkeye would be peering out anyway, to try to watch them from whatever sharp angle she could manage.) They couldn't achieve any real privacy out on the street, but they did have some anonymity as the sidewalk traffic increased with the opening of stores and people hurrying on their way to get to their jobs or other appointments. The sun had finally climbed high enough to peer over the tops of nearby buildings, and the night chill had begun to dissipate. Later on, the awning would be rolled down, to shade the window and keep the diner cool when the sun rose higher in the sky, but for now it remained rolled up above their heads.

Winry stood on one overalled leg, leaning back against the brick wall, one hand and the other foot pressed against the brick, and her other hand pressing a satchel to her side while clutching the bag containing the muffin she'd just bought in the diner. Roy understood, from her hurried explanation, that she stopped here every morning before heading to work. It was his own damnable luck that the diner closest to the train station was exactly the one she came to, so regularly.

He stood before her in his long black cape (in which he suddenly felt ridiculous), the now pointless wide-brimmed hat dangling loosely in the curled fingers of his left hand, hanging at his side. He noticed in passing that the bandanna tied around her head to keep her long blond hair out of her face was very similar to the one he himself still wore over his ruined eye.

He suppressed his natural impulse to take control of the situation, and waited for the girl as though awaiting the verdict of a judge. He always waited, now, to follow Winry's lead.

He should have expected her first question, given who and what she was. "So what happened to your arm?" she wondered, nodding at the right arm still cradled in its sling against his chest.

"I had an accident," he answered promptly, then hesitated before adding, "in Risembool."

Her eyes widened a little, but she didn't seem surprised. "What sort of accident?" she asked.

"Something exploded. I got burned, and my arm was broken."

Now her eyebrows shot up. "You? Got burned?"

"I know," he nodded wryly. "Kind of poetic, huh?"

"You couldn't stop the flames?"

"I was in the process of being knocked unconscious. So I was kind of busy." At the flare of amusement in her eyes, Roy decided to offer more. He might as well admit to as much as he could. "Actually, your grandmother took good care of me, or I'm not sure I'd have recovered. I owe her a lot." _I owe her everything I have_, he thought to himself, _but that's a different story_.

Or maybe not so different. Because Winry nodded, saying, "I thought so. That would be where you got my bandanna, then. Because you seem to take whatever you want from my family, whenever you feel like it."

The breath froze in his chest, choking off any possible response. There _was_ no response he could make, ever, to any accusation she cared to fling at him. What he wanted to do was fall to his knees at her feet, and weep. What he did instead, after the initial shock and the first deep stab of pain, was to drop the hat, and reach up to the nape of his neck where a knot in the bandanna held it securely at its angle around his head. But the knot was so tight that he couldn't work it loose with only one hand, so at last he just dug his fingers under the edge of the cloth and yanked the thing free with one upward jerk.

"Wait - I didn't mean - you don't have to - " Then Winry gasped as the bandanna came free and his entire face was bared. She ignored the hand holding the cloth out to her, and simply straightened up, stepping away from the wall, staring.

She was probably the only person he knew whose automatic response was _not_ to look away as quickly as possible. Roy lowered his hand as she stepped closer, eyes narrowed, examining the livid red of the lumpy skin, the closed and empty socket, and the angry, upraised, snaking seams where flesh and skin had been sewn together to heal in whatever inadequate way his body could manage. The skin wanted to itch at the unfamiliar touch of air. He flinched as she raised her hand, but all she did was brush the fringe of his hair aside, gently, to get a better look.

"I had no idea it had been that bad," she murmured.

The urge to fling his good arm across his eyes and hide from her gaze was almost irresistible. The effort it took to remain as he was, unprotected and open to her scrutiny, was already making him shake.

"Sir, is everything all right?"

Hawkeye - damn the woman! Instinctively, hand flying to his face to hold the crumpled bandanna over his eye, he turned away. "Get back inside, Hawkeye!" he barked.

"I just wondered if you needed my help --"

"I'm fine - everything's fine. Just go!" He took a shaky breath. "Please."

"Very well." He could tell by the tone of her voice how reluctant she was. "But...please call if you need me."

Out of the corner of his good eye, he watched Winry watch Hawkeye leave, and only when the girl turned back to him did he lower his hand, and face her again.

"You silly man," she said. "She wouldn't find it as horrifying as you think." She hurriedly stuffed the muffin into her satchel and set it on the ground. "Here," she reached for his hand and, uncurling his fingers, took the bandanna away, "let me fix this. I didn't mean you should take it off."

Roy obediently bent forward as she ran cool, efficient fingers through his hair to tidy it a bit and then wrapped the bandanna around his eye and the upper part of his head. She pulled him even lower as she reached behind to tie the knot, and he breathed in the bracing aroma of her soap, and perhaps the slightest metallic tang from her overalls.

Straightening up when she was done, he absently touched his fingers to the covered eye. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Now. Tell me why you're here. Were you looking for me? You must have been, if you went to Risembool first."

And now came the worst part of his dilemma. Because if he could bring back Edward and Alphonse, it would make Winry very happy, and go a long way toward atoning for some of the losses he'd caused her. But if he told her what he was hoping to do - and then for some reason couldn't do it - he couldn't begin to imagine how devastated she'd be. How she'd blame him for lifting her hopes, and then plunging her into fresh loss.

He didn't know if he could bear to do that to her - again.

So he did what he always did to her: he lied.

"Actually, Miss Rockbell," he said, bending to pick his hat off the sidewalk, "it's hard to believe, but it's just a coincidence that we were there, and then came here. Both times, we've been on military business. We're investigating earthquakes."

"Really? They've got you doing that sort of thing? That doesn't strike me as your type of investigation at all."

"It normally isn't." He lowered his voice. "But in this case, there may be an alchemical connection of some sort. Which is why I was sent, and why we're trying hard not to be recognized. If there's some sort of rogue alchemist doing this, we don't want to give him or her any warning that we're on to them. So I'd really appreciate if you wouldn't mention to anyone that you've seen us. And it would probably be wise if you tried to stay away from us while we're here." He embellished his lies by tapping his good hand on his injured arm. "I wouldn't want anything like this to happen to you, if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He was rather proud of his creative tale, and watched to see if he'd convinced her. Winry frowned thoughtfully as she regarded him.

"All right," she agreed slowly. "I guess I can do that. I hope you find out what's going on. The earthquake here was pretty bad, and I've been dealing with the repercussions myself. But I'm not sure you're really going to go unrecognized."

"That's why I've got this hat." He plopped it back on his head and smiled, pulling it down at a rakish angle over the bandanna. "Maybe you just recognized me because you know me."

"Well...I wasn't actually talking about you." She pointed across the street. "I was talking about him."

Roy peered across to where she was pointing. To see an immensely tall, immensely broad lumberjack at the newsstand on the opposite corner. Armstrong had somehow acquired the full regalia: checkered shirt, short pants, long socks, suspenders, long-handled axe - even the damn wool cap perched on the top of his head. He was currently, pretending to read the morning newspaper while casting furtive glances back and forth over the street.

Roy covered his eyes with his good hand, shaking his head. "Oh dear god," he muttered. "What did I ever do...?" Winry giggled, and he was almost ready to join her, except he wasn't sure he could prevent himself from going hysterical. "Thanks, Winry," he smiled again. "I'll see what I can do to...tone him down."

"I'm not sure that's possible, but good luck. I suppose I should get to work, then, if you don't think we should be see together." The girl bent and retrieved her satchel, slinging it over her shoulder. "I hope you figure out what's going on."

"If we do, we'll try to let you know," he assured her.

"Good," she nodded. "Well...goodbye, then. Oh, but general..."

"Yes?"

"If that arm starts going gangrenous or anything - I get first dibs, okay?"

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"Okay, everyone back," Ducky instructed, waving his arm as the flat area overlooking the ravine seemed to flood with people. He didn't recognize half of the people gathered here, though he knew some of them were Redfeather's friends. But the others... he looked back and forth in alarm until he realized that these appeared to be the local sheriff's men. So Redfeather had been right, that they'd have that sort of help. Good.

Meanwhile, he kept one hand on Ed's shoulder as he tried to wave Maes Hughes aside, but almost immediately he found himself face-to-face with Reilly instead.

"What's going on, you two? Ducky, what the hell happened to your face?" she demanded, frowning as she looked back and forth between them. As soon as she'd gotten one good look at Ducky in the gradually increasing light, he could tell her inner alarm bells had started going off. And Ed seemed to have dropped back into his earlier uncharacteristic reticence the moment the van had come to a stop and he'd seen all these people, but hadn't found Al in their midst. So that just made it worse.

Ducky hurried to intercept Reilly before she could start interrogating him. "We're both tired, that's all. And nothing happened to my face -- well, I mean, I banged into something hard, but that was just an accident. We didn't run into any trouble, if that's what you're thinking. I don't know what all the fuss is -- I did call to say we were almost here, and we were fine." He noted with some despair that Tom had joined Hughes nearby, and behind Reilly he could see Llyn and Heist coming toward them through what seemed more and more like a mob of people.

"I know you phoned," Reilly answered, "and everything sounded fine, but... you don't look fine and Ed's too quiet. What's going on?"

"Nothing. He's just tired. It was a long trip, and you know he pushes too hard." Ducky tried to brush past her, but she stopped him, a hand on his arm, half-turning him to face her. He could feel Ed beginning to shake under his own hand, so he mustered a leer, and crooned, "I'm flattered, Reilly. Seriously. But you'll have to wait for a rendezvous. This morning I've got a headache named Edward Elric."

"Very funny," she snorted, but her eyes continued to dart from his face to Ed's, sparking with speculation.

Relentlessly, Ducky steered past her anyway, but now Llyn stepped forward, frowning toward Ed. "Are you all right, Edward? Can I give you something--"

"He's _fine_," Ducky said. "He just needs to see Al, everybody, he doesn't need an interrogation. Where _is_ Al, anyway?"

"I'm here," came a disembodied voice from the other side of the crowd. At the sound of his voice, Ed's head jerked up. The milling people gradually stepped aside, leaving the way clear for Ducky and Ed to head toward an open space at the edge of the ravine. And at last, there was Al in the middle of it, bent over, hands on knees, surveying what he'd done so far to prepare for the creation of the transmutation circle.

But as he peered up at the two of them, he took one look at Ed's drained white face and rushed forward, pulling his brother close and slipping an arm around his shoulders.

"That's right," Ducky nodded, following the two of them and waving a shooing hand over his shoulder at everyone else. "You talk to him, Al, and I'll make sure nobody interrupts you. That's the last thing you guys need right now." As the brothers moved closer to the center of the area where the circle would be, he turned around and planted himself at the edge, determined not to let anybody get past.

"Ducky." It was Ed, pausing behind him. "Come over here with us."

The young man cast a warm glance over his shoulder. "It's okay, Ed, I can stand guard. Talk to Al."

"You have to be here. Come on. Please."

Turning back toward the onlookers, Ducky could see the dubious surprise on their faces.

"Look," Hughes said, "are you really all right? That's a really nasty bruise on your face, and Ed looks... well, strange."

"And why," Reilly demanded, her suspicions still rampant, "would he say you 'need to be there'?"

"We both really are fine," Ducky answered softly. "Ed just wants to tell Al about some stuff we talked about yesterday, that's all. And then they can get started on the circle. Everything's okay. I promise."

"Ducky...?" Ed again, from the center of the circle.

"All right, people," Ducky announced cheerfully, "time for everyone to back away a little bit. Nothing to see here -- these aren't the droids you're looking for. We'll let you know when we're done, okay?" And with that, he backed toward the brothers, noting that Hughes had begun to shepherd the rest of the people away, back toward the vehicles. He was a good guy, even if he did keep darting wordless questions back over his shoulder.

Ed had put his arms around Al, laying his head on his brother's shoulder, his pony tail falling forward to half-cover his face. "Al," he whispered, voice breaking. "Oh, Al..." And he sighed heavily, blinking away the beginnings of tears.

Pulling Ed tightly into his embrace, Al cast Ducky a look of alarm over Ed's shoulder. "What's going on?" he demanded. "He sounded fine on the phone. What happened?"

Ducky drew nearer and laid a hand on Ed's head. "Hey, Term," he said softly. "Why don't you sit down and rest? Maybe go back to the van for a bit? I can tell him everything."

Ed shook his head before lifting it and, sniffling, wiped the back of his flesh hand across his eyes to clear away the tears. Already they seemed to be fading, and some color had returned to his face. It really seemed to help, now that Al was at his side again. "No," he murmured, "this is my job."

"Don't you think it's partly my job too, now? You don't always have to do _everything_, you know."

Ed favored him with a surprisingly warm smile, a little of the old bravado creeping into his brightening eyes. "No. You're the surprise. I'm the one who gets to spring it."

Ducky laughed a little. "No fair, Ed. You haven't even wrapped me. But seriously. Are you okay to do this?"

"I wish," Al grumbled, "that you'd just get on with it, whatever it is. Should I be worried, or not?" He pulled back slightly, peering with a critical eye into Ed's face. "You do look a bit strange, Brother."

"I've just had a surprise, and it's partly happy and partly sad. All those lost years..." For a moment, Ducky held his breath, as Ed's gaze lost its focus and he stared into the distance, brows drawing together. For a moment, Ducky wondered if he might break down again, the way he'd done back at Gramps' house.

But somehow, like he almost always did, he pulled himself back to the present, and the task at hand. He pulled out of Al's embrace and began to pace, a couple of short strides back and forth across the open space while his brother waited patiently, being quite used to his modes of expression. At last the spark of excitement had kindled in Ed's eyes, and Ducky began to relax. "Al," Ed began, "you're not going to believe this..."

**__________**

**Rush Valley**

"The difficulty," Roy said, "will be drawing the circle. In fact, I don't think my right hand works well enough yet to do it," he twiddled the fingers sticking out of his sling, "and I'm not quite steady enough with my left hand to create that sort of precision. And it's crucial not to make an error with this circle."

"Agreed," Armstrong nodded. "One slip with this circle, and I can see what a backlash there could be."

Jean watched the two of them confer in the early evening shadows in the center of the short alley Roy had chosen as the site where he'd make his next attempt to open a Gate to the other world. Roy had only moments ago given Armstrong the diagrams from his previous attempt, and the looming alchemist began to study them carefully. Jean knew that he'd have to note and understand the purpose of every line, whorl, symbol, and curl, since he'd have to reproduce them perfectly to avoid either bringing down the surrounding buildings or blowing something up and getting them all killed.

Riza had already taken her place at the other end of the alley, standing with arms folded, at the corner of the three-storey warehouse to one side, ready to stop any random passers-by from entering. Jean would shortly move to the nearer end, the one that opened onto more of a main street, and stand guard there. Both of them had changed back into their military uniforms for this exercise, hoping that would grant them just enough authority to keep nosy people out and give the two alchemists time to get the job done. Roy, meanwhile, had dropped his hat and cape to the roughly paved ground, standing only in his black trousers and black shirt, the only color he wore being the bright red bandanna on his head. Armstrong, however, remained dressed in that colorful but ridiculous lumberjack outfit, though sometime during the day he'd at least lost the little woolen cap. At least he'd propped the axe against some boxes piled along the wall behind him, so it would be out of the way.

"You see how this line diverges," Roy murmured, standing on tiptoe to outline something on the diagram. Armstrong leaned further over to make it easier to reach, and Roy continued, "that's designed to try to divert any harmful energy as the circle activates."

"I see," the big man nodded. "Which means that this curve just below the branches must contain the diverted energy."

"Not quite 'contain,'" Roy shook his head. "You see these slight perforations. It's not so much 'contained' as dissipated."

"Ah yes, I see," Armstrong nodded again. "The perforations weren't visible at first, in this light."

"I'll fix that once you get started. I'll set some flames going above the circle, so you can see the diagram and see what you're drawing."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now then." Roy looked down the alley and asked briskly, "Are you ready, Hawkeye?"

"Ready, sir. Be careful."

"And you, Havoc?"

"Ready to go, boss."

"Good. You know the cover story. That should hold people off long enough to get the circle drawn. I'll let you know when I'm about to activate it."

Roy pulled a glove out of his pocket and tried to pull it onto his left hand, but with the weakness of his right, he couldn't quite work it all the way on. He raised his hand to try to pull it the rest of the way with his teeth, but Jean was already there. "Let me." He gripped Roy's wrist with one hand, and with the other, pulled the glove on the rest of the way. "Need the other one?" he asked.

"No, I won't have the strength to snap my fingers anyway. If I need the flames, this will do. Thanks, Jean."

Armstrong had already knelt and pulled a big chunk of chalk out of his pocket, and was beginning to draw. Jean stood with Roy for a few more seconds, watching, and then turned on his heel to take his place at the front end of the alley.

Behind him, he heard Roy comment, "That's good, you're doing it perfectly."

"Thank you, general," the other alchemist murmured.

Roy spoke again. "Just a few minutes now, and the Gate will be open, and hopefully Edward and Alphonse will be ready to come through. And what do you think, Alex -- will they be alone, do you suppose? I wonder what sort of companion they might bring with them. Can you think of anybody?"

Jean's steps faltered, and he fought the urge to look back over his shoulder. But he made himself move forward and take up his post, relegating his concern for later.

But, _Armstrong, my man,_ he couldn't help but think as he stopped in the center of the opening and began to watch the street, _you are in big, big trouble._

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"Dude. I need to talk to you."

Llyn looked up in surprise to find Ducky at his elbow. The young hacker had been glued to Ed's side all morning since the two of them had gotten back from their trip, but now for some reason he'd joined Llyn and Helene as they stood to one side, watching Ed and Al create their big circle on the ground. Ducky's eyes darted to the circle and back again, and he tossed a tiny bean bag weight from one hand to the other, over and over, as though he couldn't bear to keep his hands still.

"What can I do for you?" Llyn asked.

"We need to talk. Privately."

Helene peered around at her friend, frowning. "What are you up to, Ducklord? I know that look."

"I just need to tell him something," Ducky retorted defensively. "About Ed, okay? I'll bring him right back."

Even Llyn could tell that her suspicions weren't allayed, but he obliged the other man by taking a few steps away. Llyn was sure Ducky could feel her eyes boring into him the way he did, but he tried to ignore the feeling that the skin was being flayed from his back.

"Is Ed all right?" he asked quietly when no one could overhear. "He's been very quiet since you got back, but it didn't seem like anything was wrong when I gave 'im a quick check. Did something happen?"

"It's not Ed," Ducky supplied in a rush. "I just said that so Heist wouldn't bug me. I can't deal with her right now. I need to know -- I need to ask you--" He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

"Calm down." Llyn put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "We have time. Just ask."

"Do you... do you like her?"

"I beg your pardon? Do I like who?"

"Heist." Back and forth, back and forth went the bean bag.

"Well, of course I do. What's this about--"

"I mean _really_ like her. I mean _like_ like."

Llyn fought the urge to look back over his shoulder at the young woman who had laid such an enchantment on him since the evening of the bonfire back home. Instead he glued his eyes to Ducky's agitated face and said quietly, "I think you need to explain why ye're asking such a question, my friend."

"We've -- we've always taken care of each other, see, ever since we were kids. We didn't get married like our families wanted -- we just didn't feel that way. But we still love each other, you know?"

"That's been pretty clear from the start," Llyn nodded, wondering where on earth this was going.

"The last few months -- they've been really tough on her. That whole fiasco with Bond... all the running... then almost getting killed, and everyone being mad at her... she's going to need someone she can count on, while she tries to recover from all that."

Llyn's breath caught. "Ducky. What are you saying?"

"I'm just -- just speculating," the other rushed on, not meeting his eyes. "Say that -- just say -- I was out of touch for quite a while. Or something happened to me, or something. Would you -- would you be around to help her? Or would she end up trying to cope by herself?"

"Look, nothing's going to happen to you, we're going to see to that--"

"Just answer me!" Ducky hissed in his agitation. He swallowed, trying to force it down. "Please. Just humor me. Tell me if you'll be there if she needs you. I -- I have to know, before I -- well, just before." He managed a shrug and a weak, unconvincing smile.

Llyn examined the other man's face, lips parted to ask more questions, but they died away at the pleading in Ducky's eyes, wordlessly begging him not to ask. He suddenly realized that he probably didn't need to ask anyway. He was beginning to guess.

Instead he nodded solemnly. "Very well. I do. I _like_ like her," he said, smiling at the other's sheepish grin. "And if it... becomes necessary... I'll never let her out o'my sight till I know she's safe. And not even after that, I swear, for as long as she'll let me stay. Does that help you?"

Ducky closed his eyes in relief, his hands stilled at last, crossed over his chest as though to contain the leaping of his heart. "Llyn," he faltered, voice shaking, "you're a good guy. I'll never be able to thank you."

"But ye do know," Llyn reminded him softly, "that she'll guess something was goin' on, and that you told me. What is it I'm supposed to tell her then? If, say, you happen to go... out of touch?"

"Tell her...," Ducky took a deep breath. "Tell her to visit Gramps, and he'll explain everything. She'll get it then. She won't be mad at you then, I promise."

"All right. I'll do that. But now I need to ask you something."

"Oh please -- please don't--"

"Not about Helene. About Ed. Ducky... who is Edward to you? Really?"

He registered the surprise, then immediately on its heels, the furtive evasiveness as Ducky's eyes slid off his face. "I don't know what you mean," the other began, but Llyn interrupted firmly.

"I need to know this much, Ducky. I need to understand this."

The young man bowed his head for a moment as though defeated, and then nodded slowly. "All right. Gramps will tell you later, but... he's Ed's son, from back in Germany. Ed's my great grandfather, believe it or not." Ducky glanced up, a spark of hilarity in his eyes. "Weird, huh?"

Llyn slowly sucked in his breath. That explained everything. Absolutely everything. It didn't even surprise him that he believed it.

"Weird," he murmured, "doesn't begin to describe it. Are y'sure ye don't want to tell Helene yourself--" His cell phone began to twitter with his mother's special ring, and he broke off with a Welsh expletive. "This can't be good," he muttered to his companion, flipping the phone open. "What, Mam?" he said.

_"Llyn, if they aren't gone yet, you'd better get them away,"_ she began without preamble. _"You've got cars bearing down on you from the west, almost on top of you. And others are heading your way from the east. You have to get out now. I can't divert them any more without suspicion."_

"Got it, Mam. I'll call back in a bit." Llyn snapped the phone shut and said, "They're coming."

"Shit. _Shit!_" Ducky yelled. "Ed! Al! You have to get that thing done _now!_"

"Just about ready!" Ed called, neither he nor Al so much as glancing up from their work.

The others were already looking to Llyn, having heard his phone go off. Tom barked, "They're here, then?"

"Yes. Very close in the west, but others coming from the east too."

"Right then," said the Sheriff. "Red and I'll head off the closest bunch. There may be time for the rest of you to nip off a side road headin' south before the eastern boys get here."

"Tell you what," Llyn said hurriedly. "I can drive east and maybe stall the people on that side. Or at least give you an idea how many there are."

"Do that," Sheriff Tanner nodded. "I'll send a car after you, and you might delay them just long enough. But you people in the van had better get outta here quick."

"Okay," Helene said. "Ducks, you got your keys? Let's get the van started."

Llyn met Ducky's eyes. "Wait -- Helene. Come with me instead."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's right," Ducky put in. "They're not looking for him -- and his mom's an agent, even. They might not bother him at all. You'll be safer that way."

"C'mon, Ducky, don't be stupid, I'm not just walking out on you now," she retorted.

"Heist, listen to me!" he cried. "I have to stay till the very last minute, in case the circle doesn't work and they all need a ride out of here. But somebody -- _somebody_ has to get away. Don't you get it?"

"Helene," Llyn murmured, his heart beginning to pound. "Please come with me."

She looked from one to the other, her previous suspicions obviously flaring again. All around them, the Sheriff's men and Redfeather's were hopping into vehicles and beginning to race away. "Why just me?" she demanded.

"Well, you're still weak, after losing all that blood--"

"That's not good enough, Ducklord. Why?"

"Because I love you, you idiot," Ducky urged, voice shaking, eyes blinking back sudden tears. "And I want you to be safe. So will you please, _please_ not argue just this once, and go with Llyn? Give me a little peace of mind while we wait here and bite our fingernails?"

She stared at him for what felt like the longest ten seconds in the history of the world. Llyn's heart sank, pain stabbing through him in the midst of the urgency and fear. Helene wasn't stupid, by a long shot, and he'd bet any money she'd guessed what her friend was doing. And she wasn't going to come with him. Choosing between him and Ducky -- she was going to choose Ducky.

Then finally she muttered, "Dammit, you're such an ass." And flung herself at her long-time friend, throwing her arms around him, sniffling against his shoulder. "I don't know if I'll ever forgive you for this."

Ducky held her tightly. "Just be safe and happy, H." Almost immediately he pulled away. "I'd better see if I can help Ed and Al," he said, swiping a hand across his eyes.

"Helene," Llyn said again, holding out his hand. It was shaking; he couldn't help it. "Please. Come with me, love."

One last look back at her friend, and then -- he could barely believe his eyes -- she reached for him, and took his hand. He drew a sharp, gasping breath at the surge of joy that went through him at the touch of her fingers.

It was nothing but a rushing blur, then. People running everywhere, cars screeching off in all directions. Maes grabbing Reilly, moaning, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," until she stifled his wretched good-bye with a last kiss. Ed yelling, "_We're finished!_" and Al sitting back on his heels, catching Llyn's eye, and flashing a final confident smile.

Helene called over her shoulder, "Catch you later, Stone Age!" And as Ducky burst into wild, cackling laughter behind them, Llyn intertwined his fingers with hers and they began to run, hand in hand, toward his car.


	44. Ch 30a Okay, Who Forgot the Flux Capacit

**"Okay, Who Forgot the Flux Capacitor?"  
Arc One: Chapter 30  
Balance of Power**

**Part One**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, **SPOILER HEAVY** and just a bit AU **

**September 5, 1919  
Rush Valley, Amestris**

Roy paced back and forth behind Armstrong, trying not to wiggle the fingers of his right hand, trying to save whatever strength he had in that arm for the moment when he'd really need it. He felt that he should be doing _something_ to prepare himself, but really, the greatest preparation was the transmutation circle itself, and Armstrong had that well in hand.

Several flares glowed softly in the air above the array, so Armstrong could clearly see both the original rendering and his own efforts. They required only a fraction of the Flame Alchemist's attention to keep going. He would snuff them out when the work was done.

The true epicenter of the last earthquake had been about half a block west of here, with the corresponding collapsed walls and cracks in the ground to show for it. He was sure that this alley was close enough. The connection to the portal in the other world would be strong enough to allow the Gate to open. There were some worrisome cracks in the walls surrounding the alley, but Armstrong had examined them and said the walls were sound enough. So unless something dreadful happened inside the Gate itself -- again, they should be safe here as well as unnoticed -- for as long as it took to accomplish what he needed to.

There was still time, he was sure of it –- though not much. Whatever it was that connected him to the Elric brothers, it didn't provide him any details about their situation, so he couldn't be sure how ready they were to make the attempt from their side. Yet somehow he knew that they were close. Not this moment –- but soon. He would be ready.

He walked toward the far end of the alley for a moment, then stopped and looked at Riza Hawkeye, standing still and silent in the center of the opening, unobtrusively keeping watch as always. She didn't turn, not even slightly, though his footsteps set off a faint echo between the buildings on either side. She waited, arms at her sides, back straight.

Roy turned and began to pace in the other direction, back toward the almost completed circle. Beyond the kneeling Armstrong stood Jean Havoc, watching as faithfully as Riza, albeit a bit more casually: leaning a shoulder against one wall, ankles crossed, arms folded across his chest -- and of course the inevitable, unlit cigarette was dangling from his lips. Everything fine there, too.

Just a few more lines. Armstrong was an excellent alchemist, and very adept at drawing arrays. He was adept at a lot of things, wasn't he?

Roy grimaced briefly at the thought, thinking again of the stupid question he'd posed just as the man had begun to draw the design -- a question which would likely be answered in just a few minutes anyway. Very unwise thing to do –- had Armstrong been less confident in his own abilities, he might have started to second-guess his work, and a flaw would almost certainly have crept into the lines and patterns. Fortunately, though, the other alchemist had kept his head and continued drawing, slowly and carefully, and as far as Roy could tell, it was perfect.

And almost finished. One particularly finicky rune to go. Which was why Roy was more irritated than aghast when a familiar voice suddenly burst into the alley, breaking the spell of concentrated, anticipatory silence.

"Lieutenant Havoc, let me see! What's going on in there? What are you doing?"

Winry.

Roy's heart sank. He could see her silhouette against the light of the brighter street outside the alley, past Havoc's now outstretched arms. She kept trying to duck around the rangy lieutenant to see into the alley, and Jean kept stepping in her way.

"Winry, please, can't you just go?" Jean hissed in furtive tones. Not even Fullmetal could have missed the hint.

Winry was having none of it. "There's something going on, Havoc. I don't think General Mustang told me the truth. I want to talk to him!"

"You can't... maybe later–-"

"I'm not leaving," the young woman continued, loudly enough to draw some curious glances from passersby, "until I get some answers."

Roy sighed. "It's all right, Jean, let her by. We'll attract more attention trying to keep her out than if we just let her in."

Jean cast an apologetic glance back as he stepped aside. "Sorry boss." Winry marched into the alley, and then another girl quickly followed her in, ducking sideways as Jean tried to grab her arm. "Hey! Look here-–"

"She's with me, so you can leave her alone," Winry shot over her shoulder. As the two women strode up to the far arc of the ring, Roy saw that Winry's friend wore overalls as well, but hers curved over a distinctly distended and pregnant stomach. But even more striking was the fact that both legs jutting below the pant legs were constructed of automail. Roy suspected that was how she'd sidestepped Jean so easily; the man was quick on his feet, and usually not so easily outmaneuvered.

Roy graced her with only a brief glance as he said, "You shouldn't be here." Then he pointedly turned his focus back to Alex and the array.

Undeterred, Winry grasped his good arm and forced his attention back to her. "Why? Because you're doing something illegal? You're not just here to investigate something strange, are you, Roy?" the girl demanded. "You're here to _create_ something strange."

"I can't get into this right now, Winry," Roy said as he gently, but firmly, pulled away from her, "there just isn't time." Then he strolled toward the other side of the array, fully intending that to be the end of it. "I can explain later when I've done--"

"And what is that?" she snapped as she pursued him, carefully skirting the array. "Did _you_ cause that earthquake? Because if you did-–"

"Of course not!" Roy said as he reared back at the accusation.

"Well you're always up to _something_, and the results aren't always healthy, are they?" she insisted, advancing close enough that he could smell the subtle hint of machine oil on her. "I said I wanted answers, and I'm going to get them, General. I want to know why the four of you were disguised when you got into town this morning, and what you're hiding now."

"Winry," he said tightly, as he raised his hand, placing an invisible boundary between them, "I swear, we're not going to hurt any--"

"Why should I believe that?" she interrupted once again, ignoring the hand and leaning closer. She wasn't much shorter than he was, but her proximity caused her to glare up at him -- determination and relentlessness practically humming through her. "You're always doing something to hurt someone. I'm already dealing with the results of the earthquake; I don't want to have to patch people back together when you've finished--" she waved a hand at the ground "--whatever it is you're doing here. So I want to know what it is, General!"

"I'm trying to bring the Elrics home!" he blurted.

She took a shocked step back and stared at him. "What?" she said blankly.

Roy's head dropped and he ran his hand through his hair. This wasn't what he wanted her to know yet. He couldn't carry the guilt of shattering this girl's life once again if he failed, and yet he let himself get pushed into doing it anyway. "Edward and Alphonse, Winry," he said, softly, "I'm trying to bring them home."

Armstrong's arm curved in front of him, the steadily moving chalk making the last connection, completing the last line. "Done," he murmured, sitting back on his heels. "It is ready, General."

The pregnant woman slipped an arm around Winry's shoulders, saying urgently, "Win? You okay?" While Winry continued staring at Roy in stunned silence, the blood draining so swiftly from her dangerously pale face that he thought she might keel over.

**__________**

**September 5, 2006  
Central Oklahoma**

"I'm going to miss your brand of insanity, you know," Ed murmured as he gripped Ducky's shoulder.

Al still found it hard to believe, but as he'd spent the past couple hours digesting it, he started to notice little things in a different light. Subtle hints that Ducky was, indeed, an Elric: in the shape of his face and eyes, the way he could be just as stubborn as Ed, himself...

"No you won't," Ducky responded, as he turned to Tom and tossed him the keys to the Ninjavan. "You'll need these." He faced the brothers once more with a grin that sent a thrill shooting through Al -- and if the narrow-eyed, tense-jawed expression on his brother's face was any indication, Ed had come to the same conclusion.

Tom stared down at the ring in his hands as though expecting it to bite him, and said, "Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind, Ducks?"

"Heist is going to need you." Ed clenched the other man's shoulder tightly enough that the fabric of Ducky's loud, flower-print shirt gathered between his fingers and Al was grateful for the other man's sake that it wasn't the automail hand. "_Maes_ will need you."

Unlike his bother, Al wasn't so certain. By all logic, Ducky had no business jumping the Gate with them. He didn't belong in their world any more than they belonged in his... yet at the same time, there was a sense of _rightness_ about the idea. Like a circle, the Elric legacy had begun in their world, and perhaps it was fitting that it would eventually end there, as well. Al found that he kind of liked the idea of Ducky coming along.

"Heist has Llyn. She'll be all right." Then Ducky's expression softened, as he said, "Gramps wants me to keep an eye on you. Besides, Uncle Al deserves a break once in awhile."

Ed glanced at his younger brother and Al shrugged. "Can't argue with that, Brother. You are pretty high-maintenance, after all."

"You're not helping here."

"Wait a minute!" Reilly blurted. "_Uncle_ whu--?"

Al snapped around, having nearly forgotten this wasn't exactly a private moment, and scanned the varying degrees of shock on the faces of Tom, Reilly and Hughes. But before he or Ed could offer any sort of explanation, Tom's cell beeped with a text alert. "No time, folks. Ducks, are you staying or going?"

"I'm going." "He's staying!"

Okay, so maybe Ducky coming along on this adventure wasn't going to be easy -- but then, when had anything ever been simple for them?

Both men glared at each other with identical stubborn sets in their shoulders and Al glanced from one to the other, then threw up his hands and flopped down on the ground. He pulled his flute from his pocket as he muttered, "As if one of them wasn't enough." He flexed his fingers and settled them over the holes in the instrument, then shot over his shoulder, "Make up your minds, already. I'm opening this Gate."

"Dammit, Ducky, you can't go with me. It's not your world."

"It's just as much mine as it is yours!"

Al hesitated with the flute barely to his lips and twisted around to watch the fireworks. Explaining _this_ should be fascinating, to say the least, and he wasn't going to be able to center himself when those two were yelling at each other anyway. He just hoped they wrapped it up fairly quickly.

"What?! Are you nuts?"

"Think about it," Ducky reasoned. "You came from there -- and you're my great grandfather -- that makes it my world, too."

"That's the stupidest argument I've ever _heard_," Ed said as he shook his head and tangled his fingers in his hair. "That logic's more twisted than using a fucking _flute_ to open a Gate."

"I'm confused," Hughes murmured to Reilly and Tom. "Are you confused?"

"I've gone way beyond confused," Reilly said.

"It's Ducky," Tom said. "He projects confusion like really bad body odor. You can't avoid smelling him, and the stink clings to you even after he leaves. Unfortunately, he's completely oblivious to it."

"It makes perfect sense," Ducky argued, jabbing a finger, like a fleshy punctuation mark, in the direction of the array and leaning in toward Ed as if sheer force of will would get the blond to relent. "One fourth of my DNA originated on that side of the Gate, and if we could've compared Maes'--" he said as he aimed that emphasizing finger at Hughes, "--with his doppleganger, I'll bet you that they'd be identical, which would mean more than a quarter came from there."

Hughes took a stunned step back and whispered, "What are you talking about?"

"That's what I want to know," Reilly said.

"You're not going, and that's final," Ed said, as he took a determined step closer to Ducky and cut the air with his metal hand. "Your... DNA, or whatever, aside, you wouldn't survive in our world. You're the one who thinks we live in the stone age, remember?"

"Will you keep it down to a dull roar? I can't concentrate!" Al shouted. This had gone on long enough, and if he didn't put a stop to it now -- as stubborn as _both_ of them were -- it would go on forever.

"Al, just play," Hughes said, pointing at the youngster sitting on the ground. Then he rounded on Ducky and said, "You... you're staying here."

"I made a promise!"

"One you can't _keep!_" Ed insisted.

"This isn't some game where you can just hit escape and start over again when things get tough," Hughes said.

"No shit!" Ducky exploded. "Don't you think I know that? If I wanted 'easy', I'd stay, but Ed and Al... and _you_ in a bizarre, twisted way, are family, and I made a promise to the only blood that really mattered before now, and I'll be damned if I'm going to break it."

"You've got three seconds, then we're going without you, Ducks," Tom snapped as he tried to pull on Reilly's arm.

"Dammit, what in the bloody hell is everyone going on about?" Reilly insisted, while stubbornly refusing to budge.

Al caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to gaze at the raven doing a little agitated dance on the far side of the array. With a heavy sigh, he said, "I know what you mean." He could practically feel the Feds breathing down their necks, and it was going to take time for him to find his center if he wanted to lose himself in the music enough to open the Gate. As amusing as this argument might have been under other circumstances, it was time to declare a cease-fire. "Brother," he said softly, as he watched the raven become calm, "Ducky's going, and you can't stop him any more than you could stop me." He smiled up at the stunned expression on Ed's face and said, "He _is_ an Elric, after all." He gazed over at Hughes and added, "He's also a Hughes."

"Okay, mystery solved! Time's up!" Tom shouted and yanked Reilly nearly off her feet.

_"Wait!"_ Reilly protested as she stumbled backwards, "I want to hear the whole story!"

Ducky waved and called, "Go talk to Gramps! He'll tell you all about it!" To Hughes, he grinned and said, "I'll give you the details after the jump. Al, haven't you got that thing open yet?"

Al paused with the flute halfway to his lips and glared at the remainder of their group. "I'm _trying_."

"So what's the problem?" Ed asked.

Al's only response before he attempted, yet again, to start playing, was a frustrated groan and the rolling of his eyes. He suddenly remembered, with a bittersweet twang in his gut, Gene saying something once about a Chinese curse: _'May you live in interesting times'_. Oh yeah, life was about to get very _interesting_, all right.

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

_Bring the boys home._

He's bringing them home...

Winry's subconscious was moving a bit faster than the rest of her brain today -- that repeated and obviously unintended revelation wiping out all but the most basic motor functions. Had Paninya not been clutching her arms, she was pretty certain her backside would be greeting the concrete below. As it was, the concrete at her back served nicely as a sudden brace. "You... you're..." _Come on girl, keep it together. Speech was definitely not a problem for you ten seconds ago!_ "You're what!?" _Short but at least a complete sentence._

The General wasn't looking at her any longer -- that single glance his last before turning to examine the lines drawn by the Major. "Good work."

She still stared at Mustang -- but he was clearly not going to look back. He'd obviously not intended to share that little revelation -- he'd meant to militarily deny everything. She could demand it, she knew. She had influence with him that nobody else could ever claim to have. He would owe her for an eternity, and he knew it.

But...

There was a time, about two years ago, where she would have accepted such a revelation unquestioningly. Roy Mustang's bald statement alone would have been enough to send hope soaring -- filling her heart with the truth that, where certain individuals were involved, anything and everything could happen. But that had been before...

Before that final battle... Before that final goodbye... Before she'd stopped looking back, and started looking forward -- knowing she couldn't count on anyone else to build her dreams for her.

He didn't plan to come back.

So how could anyone think there was a chance that he would?

That he could.

That he was even still...

A mental wrench to the forehead worked almost as well as the actual tool. Leave it to Edward to mess with her emotions even out of sight! If-- _WHEN_ that boy returned, he'd  
better be wearing a helmet!

Not letting the other internal voice state otherwise -- the need to act superseding self-coddling -- Winry brushed Paninya's hands _(one cold and one warm... just like Ed)_ from her arms and stepped forward. "What do you need me to do?"

A single eyed stare turning back again -- that crisp and irreverent smile gliding with his lips -- Roy Mustang raised one brow in a look that nearly bordered on flirtation. "We need a distraction. A big one."

And heaven help her, excitement lurched beneath her ribs and Winry grinned too. "How soon?"

"Not long. An hour or two, at most." Mustang turned back to inspecting the array. An array that might bring Ed and Al back -- or it might slip the alchemist's control and obliterate the whole town.

Winry swallowed thickly.

Paninya grabbed her hand in her flesh one; cradling her stomach with the other. "I have an idea!" The young woman's dark eyes gleamed with enthusiasm and some mischief. "But we'll need some help."

The mechanic nodded in reply. "I know just who to ask."

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

_Do they all get their fashion sense from 'The Matrix',?_ Sheriff Mark Tanner wondered. He squared his shoulders and met the gaze of the tall, icy blonde woman. She had to be at least 50% plastic -- no natural human being could be that flawless from head to toe. He was certain she'd never blinked the entire time since she took off her 'standard issue' sunglasses.

There was no way they were getting any further onto the 'res without the proper paperwork. Of course, they'd all conveniently have forgotten that the reservation was legally sovereign territory. Since they were government wage monkeys, they would think the laws didn't apply to them, and they'd expect federal ID and standard search warrants to suffice. After all, local cops were just brainless muscle to be pushed aside when they became inconvenient to the people who really mattered.

Well, they were in for a surprise. Tanner and half of his men were parked about five miles to the west of the sacred grounds, and Tanner's deputy, Maria Brightweather, and the other half of the reservation force, were blocking the highway from the east -- and this road was the only way into where the alleged fugitives were. There would be no end-run around them.

Tanner was planning to enjoy this. All they needed was a few minutes -- if all went as planned, Singer's friends would disappear like a puff of smoke, and there would be no evidence they ever existed in this world. But if he could, the Sheriff was going to milk the opportunity for all it was worth. He'd keep the Ice Bitch standing there into next week if he could. Then it wouldn't matter if the Feds brought the entire force with them.

"You're impeding the lawful pursuit of three dangerous criminals, Sheriff," the woman had said as she'd emerged from the first governmentally nondescript black sedan.

"You're trespassing on sovereign Indian land, Officer. This is my jurisdiction. If there're any fugitives to be had here, my people will roust them out for you."

She pulled a folded sheath of papers from the inside pocket of her suit jacket and handed them to him. "We have a warrant."

Tanner took a glance and held them back to her, unimpressed. "Not from the BIA," he said, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth than a male version of the 'Ice Queen' unfolded himself from the vehicle behind hers... carrying another set of documents. Tanner didn't need to see them. The victorious smirk on the woman's face was enough.

He took his time flipping through the pages anyway. Usually, he didn't care much for paperwork -- but these papers, he read every word of. Since they were printed in standard federal jargon, single-spaced, he could kill those few precious minutes even if everything was perfectly legal.

_Is any of this shit for real?_ Tanner scanned through the first warrant in the stack. _Edward Elric, wanted for questioning in connection with the murders of Ray Purdue, Katherine Letrowsky, multiple counts of larceny, bombing of Park City Medical, hacking of multiple government databases...who are these people?_ Singer's calm face came to mind. Tanner flipped to the next warrant. _Alphonse Elric._ More hacking, more bombing, more murder. Singer wouldn't have helped criminals like the ones described in these pages. _Maes Hughes. Mary Reilly. Thomas Mears... This smells. What are the odds that this many psychopaths and criminal masterminds would join forces?_

He finally ran out of pages. With a resigned sigh, Tanner pressed the button on the side of the mic clipped to his shoulder, and said, "Brightweather, if you got any Feds chomping at the bit on your end, let 'em go. They have the proper paperwork."

_"No Men in Black showing themselves on this end, Boss,"_ his deputy responded. _"We'll disperse, Sir."_

Much to Tanner's amazement, the woman standing in front of him chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound, and if he'd been one to believe in demons or aliens or shit like that, Tanner would have pegged her as nonhuman just because her laugh was so fake. She smiled, another plastic, unfeeling expression, and said, "I suspected you would do your best to make sure the suspects escaped. You'll be hearing from the proper authorities about the disciplinary consequences of this little stunt. Fortunately, you haven't succeeded. While you've been wasting our time, Sheriff, several field operatives have made their way into the area. We--" she waved at the three sedans behind her, "--were the decoy." Her expression went stony, and Tanner could swear the temperature dropped ten degrees at that very moment. "Now, if you don't want to be charged with obstruction of justice, harboring fugitives, and a very long list of other crimes that could conceivably get you and your entire force locked in solitary confinement at Leavenworth, I would suggest you get your ass out of the way, and allow the Federal Government to do its job."

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

"I don't _know_, dammit!" Roy Mustang glared at the chalked array and scowled. "All I know for sure is that it's going to happen before sunset today, and that _this_ is where I have to be if it's going to work."

"That's going to make it hard to create a distraction at just the right time," Paninya repeated for the fifth or sixth time. "Can't you... send up a flare or something?"

"Not without alerting the ones we seek to avoid," Armstrong answered gravely.

"How about a shot? Hawkeye and I are both carrying plain old non-alchemist service revolvers." Havoc took his from the shoulder holster under his jacket. "I've got a couple extra clips, so I can spare a round or two."

"Good idea," Mustang approved. "Your plan would work if we had more time, Paninya," He was careful to pronounce her name correctly, "but I don't think you two could safely set it up in the time we have."

"Leave that to us," Paninya flashed the Flame Alchemist a grin and grabbed Winry by the hand, pulling her into a headlong dash that lasted for about a block before Paninya slowed to a jog, then a fast walk, and then finally a chuckle-laced groan as she wrapped an arm around her large belly and leaned against a wall. "Urg-- life would be a lot more fair if men were required to carry these things at least part of the time. I should have had Dominic just rebuild me from the waist down when he had the chance."

Winry smiled, though she was worried about the other woman. "Are you sure about this? I mean, we can always get someone else..."

The brown eyes that met hers had a wild flash that reminded her of a pick-pocketing pixie from long ago. Still holding her stomach, Paninya straightened and grabbed Winry's hand. "Like there's anyone else who'd believe that crazy story about _feeling_ Ed and Al trying to come home?" Her grin widened as she tugged them into a slow lope once more. "Besides, it'll be fun!"

Her own enthusiasm bolstered by the vibrant determination of her companion, Winry allowed Paninya to pull her into a shambling jog. Why shouldn't she hope? If everything worked like Mustang said...

...if Roy Mustang wasn't succumbing to the psychosis that seemed to be a part of alchemical mastery. If he wasn't telling some kind of elaborate lie to win her cooperation and silence while he worked another convoluted scheme to boost himself higher up the ladder of power. If he was-- she didn't think he was lying, but he _was_ a master manipulator and he knew her weaknesses, damn sure he did -- if he'd lied about trying to bring Ed and Al home, she really _would_ break his other arm. Maybe a few other things, too.

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"I have to admit," Heist mused, watching Llyn drive as she turned sideways in the passenger seat with one leg curled under her, "you've got a lot more spunk than I expected at first."

"Which, I take it, is a compliment?" He smiled slightly, but almost immediately his brows came together as he scanned the road ahead for the first incoming vehicles.

"That would be a compliment, yes. And you've got nerve, too, driving straight into a storm like this."

"Maybe, maybe not," the young man murmured. He flashed her a mischievous wink, making her think simultaneously how adorable he was when winking, and wonder who ever winked at anyone these days? "I can play the doctor card first," he mused.

"Play doctor? You think the Men in Black will play along?"

He almost barked, as a laugh burst out of him of its own accord. The look he flashed this time was far less mischievous, and far more lascivious. "When next I play doctor," he announced, deliberately rolling the "r" with that Welsh lilt that, she had to admit, made her rather tingly, "it will not be with any number of men, in black or no. The lady, however, may wear black if she pleases. Though I doubt she'll be wearin' it for long, if you catch my meaning."

Heist giggled and fell silent. She watched his dark brows draw together again as he dragged his attention back to the road and continued to plan.

"What should I do as the doctor...? I could have begged for their help if you were pregnant, and maybe distracted them by demanding an escort to a hospital."

"I'm no help there, sorry," she snickered. "I've even lost weight while we've been on the run."

"We could be seriously lost, I suppose."

"That wouldn't be distracting enough. They'd just send us to the nearest gas station."

"You're right."

"I know," Heist suggested. "We've just been abducted by aliens, and need to talk to the feds about it right away. And by sheer coincidence -- these guys happen to _be_ the feds. Our lucky day."

"Now, that's devious," Llyn responded in admiration.

"It's the company I keep. Half of my friends suspect they've been abducted already. Or hope to be, some day. In the meantime," it was Heist's turn to flash a naughty grin, "you and I can flip a coin to decide who got to have the anal probe."

Again the man barked out a laugh. "Stop distractin' _me_, woman! Are ye tryin' to make me go off the road?"

"Not till we get rid of the feds," she laughed back.

"Y'r creative imagination is goin' to take some getting used to. I'll be hard pressed to keep up with ye," Llyn remarked.

"It's called 'growing up with Ducky'," Heist snickered again. But suddenly, at the thought of her friend, another thought occurred to her and she exclaimed vehemently, "Oh no! Oh _shit!_"

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Llyn watched in alarm as she frantically patted herself down, wriggling about in the seat as she felt the back of her jeans and dug into the pockets of her jacket. With a small moan, she leaned over and frantically started feeling Llyn's legs near his hips and then ran her hands over his chest. "I'm flattered," Llyn stammered, frowning in puzzlement, "but shouldn't we wait until we get somewhere a bit more... private?"

Instead of answering, Heist darted her hand into his jacket, then drew it right back out with a "Hah!" Flipping open his cellphone, "Hold on," she answered shortly as she rapidly punched in the number to Ducky's cell. "Come on, come on," she urged as she heard the ringing begin.

"Helene, tell me what's happened--" Llyn began, but her voice drowned him out.

"Oh no no no! Not _voice mail!_ Pick up, Ducky, or I swear--" She punched in the number again, hoping against hope that he'd answer, that they'd be in range, that somehow the phone would work this time -- that somehow he wasn't already gone. But no. The message began to run again: _'...If you need me to tell you how to leave a message, then you're probably a total stranger, or from another planet. If you're a stranger, don't bother, but if you're from another planet I'd really like to talk to you...'_

"I'll never forgive you for this, Tuckandroll!" Heist yelled at the answering message as it droned on, oblivious to her urgency. "I promise, Ducklord, some day you are gonna _pay!_"

"In the name of all that's holy and merciful, will you please tell me what is wrong?" Llyn cried. He looked about ready to pull the car over, the Men in Black or anyone else be damned.

Heist snapped the phone shut and slumped back against the door behind her. "I should have thought of it," she groaned. "How could I have been so stupid?" She fixed Llyn in her miserable gaze and wailed, "_Ducky's still got my backpack in the Ninjavan!_" She covered her face and moaned. "Everything's in there! Merlin, Mordred, Lancelot, Guenevere! All of them!"

"Ah, ye lost me, darlin'," Llyn said.

"My laptop and all my equipment," she wailed. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I'd be in if the Feds found it? I don't think even your mother could get me out of that."

"Do I even want to know what kind of 'equipment' ye're talkin' about? Never mind, no, I don't." Llyn pointed at the cell and added, "Try Tom or Reilly. P'haps one of them will make sure it's safe. After all, they'll be usin' the Ninjavan to get out of there, yes?"

Heist squeaked and wrenched Llyn's head around to give him a kiss, whereupon he swerved and nearly sideswiped an unmarked semi parked on the side of the road. "Of course! Why didn't I think about that?" She let him go and allowed him to recover while she dialed up Reilly's number.

As she held the phone up to her ear, she saw three black sedans race past them in the opposite direction.

**__________**

Ducky tried not to strain for the sounds of the van receding in the distance as it drove away. It had gone far enough by now that he'd just be imagining the sound anyway, but it was hard to keep himself from trying to hear the last faint murmuring of the engine. He and that Ninjavan had been through a lot together. It was hard, hard to let it go after all that.

But he'd made his choice, and it was time to look ahead. He stood at the edge of the array with Ed, Al, and Hughes, and waited breathlessly to see where this wild and crazy life of his would take him next. Oh, Gramps, he thought.

The sun glinted off Al's brown hair in sparks of gold as he smiled at his two companions, finally relaxing at last into the relative peace and quiet now that everyone else had left. Again he put the flute to his mouth, closing his eyes and taking a breath. He let it out slowly, softly, and the notes began to emerge from the instrument...

...and almost immediately stopped.

He took another breath, smiled to himself, and began to play again...

...and after just a few notes, the music faltered and faded, and then stopped again.

Ducky exchanged a worried glance with Hughes, and resolutely kept his mouth shut. But he could tell the man was almost ready to say something, himself.

"Al?" Ed whispered.

His brother shook his head slightly, not opening his eyes. He took another couple of gentle breaths to calm or stabilize himself or something, and put his lips once again to the flute. This time the music came more steadily, more strongly, and when Ducky saw his shoulders gradually loosen and relax, he himself began to relax as well. He hadn't realized just how tense he'd gotten in less than a minute. He had just enough time to flash an amused, _'Weren't we stupid to worry'_ grin at Hughes, and then...

And then... the music hesitated, spurted a little, and stopped again.

Ducky glanced nervously at Ed, still afraid to say anything, and fighting the urge to look over his shoulder toward the road. He'd begun to imagine that he might be catching the merest hint of sirens in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hughes surreptitiously fiddling with something up his sleeve. Where, Ducky suddenly remembered, he kept his knives stashed. Meanwhile Ed watched his brother intently, biting his lip, obviously wondering if he should say anything. His very stance was uneasy, leaning forward, brows drawn, flesh hand gripping his automail arm so tightly his knuckles were white.

Still Al did not open his eyes. He lowered the flute for a moment, murmured, "Find the center," and lifted the instrument yet again to his lips.

And for the fourth time, all he managed were a few vague notes before he seemed to lose the melody he sought. At last he grabbed the flute in one fist and dropped it to his side, lifting his eyes to the sky in frustration. _"Aaaargh!"_

Ducky's gaze flew to Ed's face as he waited for an explosion, now that the cork had popped. Fortunately, Ed didn't seem ready to go critical quite yet, but he did seem relieved that he could finally say something.

"Al? What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's not working," Al answered.

"I can see that. What's the matter? You did say you knew how to use this thing."

"I did. I do."

"You..._'did'_? Would you suddenly just forget something like this? I thought you'd gotten it working before-–"

"I did. And I _do_ know how to use it. I'm doing everything right, but it's just not working. I don't understand it."

"Well, you have to fix it somehow, Al. We don't have any time left."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Al retorted angrily. He buried both hands in his hair (the flute, Ducky thought hysterically, jutting up like some kind of antenna), and gasped a couple of deep breaths. "Can't get mad," he muttered. "Have to stay calm."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Hughes asked. He kept loosening his sleeves and shrugging his shoulders. He was getting ready for a fight, Ducky could tell.

Ed's demeanor was at last beginning to fray despite his efforts to keep his agitation under control. "Calm isn't going to accomplish anything now. They're practically on our collective asses!" he pointed stiffly in the direction from which the Feds would come, if they were in fact on their way. "Al, you have to do something!"

"Don't start yelling now, Ed, please!" Al implored his brother, hands still clutching his hair. "I can't think if you start yelling at me -– I can't think-–"

"Stay calm, Al," Hughes put in, in his most reasonable tone. "Nobody's going to yell at you."

"That's right," Ducky agreed. "Because it wouldn't help anything, getting on your case now. Right, Ed?"

Ed turned and glared at him. "Look, just stay out of this, all right? We'll figure it out."

Oh, _that_ was rich. "I have as much right to say something as you do," Ducky retorted. "I just know that yelling at Al wouldn't help him figure anything out, that's all." Again he thought of the Ninjavan with considerable yearning, though he regretted losing it for entirely different reasons now. Without it, they were going to be sitting ducks if Al really couldn't manage to get the Gate open.

To his surprise, Ed nodded sharply. "You're right. You're right. There's no time to get upset. Al, don't worry that you can't use the flute -– I'll try something else instead. I'll get us out of this somehow. Don't worry."

_Always the protector,_ thought Ducky.

At the sound of a loud fluttering off to one side, the four of them turned quickly, both Hughes and Ed automatically bending into a low crouch, arms up in fighting posture. But it was only the raven, returned to settle back to its previous perch on the bush. It ruffled its feathers before it lifted and placed each of its feet in turn, to get a better hold on the branch. Ed let out a sigh of relief, then went to one knee, eyes scanning the lines of the circle, his hands poised in front of him.

"Ed..." The unease on Hughes' face reflected exactly what Ducky was feeling. The man licked his lips and repeated, "Ed... you know you can't make it work that way."

"Well, I have to try, don't I? I can't just stand around and do nothing."

Ducky demanded, "Then who're you gonna kill to get it open? Me? Hughes?"

"Don't be stupid." Ed didn't even look up, his brows drawn together in an intense frown as he calculated. "I'll find another way."

"If you could've done that, you'd have found one by now."

"Well, I have to do _something_ don't I–-"

"Ed." Al's quiet voice somehow cut through the conversation. "Brother -– I know why it isn't working."

Ed sprang to his feet, turning around eagerly. "So what's the problem? How do we fix it?"

Al wasn't even looking at him, but remained as he'd been since the raven's arrival, sitting utterly still, his solemn grey eyes fixed on the bird. The young man answered softly, "There isn't a problem. It just isn't the right time."

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

Roy let the flares fade away as the two girls slipped back out to the street. Paninya's idea was more than a little farfetched, but even if it only made noise and a little smoke, it would be enough of a distraction, for long enough. Roy returned to pacing the length of the alley, flexing the fingers of his right hand.

He couldn't sit still. Couldn't even _stand_ still. He'd prided himself for years on his ability to keep his temper, to hide and control his every reaction -- and yet he couldn't school his face into neutrality or keep his body from pacing like a caged animal.

"Sir, you will exhaust yourself." Alex remarked quietly. Roy grunted in agreement, but nothing more. Armstrong was right. He was going to wear himself out before he even activated the array.

_Center. Find the center._ It wasn't time yet, but Roy knew with a certainty that he couldn't place a finger on, that he _would_ know when it was.

**__________**

Winry and Paninya reached Dominic's automail shop, both panting and disarrayed like playful children rather than adults with a mission. The older mechanic had one of his long-term clients in for an adjustment. The privacy curtain was drawn -- a barrier that existed as much in Dominic's head as the physical world. Interrupting a consultation with a client was a cardinal sin to the master mechanic's mind, and he would stoically ignore all clamor for his attention -- and possibly even his shop collapsing around his ears -- until he was finished tending to his client.

Not that that stopped Winry from trying.

"Mr. Dominic!" She threw aside the curtain, startling the client so that he lurched backward in the chair. As for her boss, however, he didn't even give her a glance.

"There's a bit of wear on inner plate. We'll need to adjust the fitting before we rebalance the center joint." He lifted the man's automail arm, rotating first the elbow, and then the shoulder, eliciting a small squeak. "Sounds like some of the bearings may be in need of a little grease." He stood then, knees popping loudly. in a few more years, he'd probably be considering automail himself. Some of their clients now had skeletal automail to replace damaged joints -- and the old man would be an excellent advertisement...

Winry shook her head. _Don't get sidetracked!_ "Mr. Dom..."

"You can put your shirt back on, Tain. I'll schedule you for a refit later this month." He pushed past the two women, headed deeper into the interior of the shop. They dogged his heels, Paninya almost jigging despite the weight of her pregnancy. Winry was opening her mouth for the third time when the gruff man finally faced her.

"Girl, you know my rules." He said sternly. Folding his arms, he waited expectantly for an apology.

"We need help!" Winry launched full-force into her pitch as a single grizzled eyebrow climbed toward a receding hairline. She hurried on before Dominic could say no. "I was buying pastries at that coffee shop you like so much when I ran into Colonel Mustang, well he used to be Colonel but now he's a General, but he was undercover and Miss Hawkeye was with him, and so was Lieutenant Havoc but they were all in disguises -- they were _bad_ disguises but they tried, you should have _seen_ Major Armstrong, he should stick to military uniforms from now on if _that's_ his idea of blending in with local fashion--" one breath was hardly enough to contain the bulk of words she thrust his way "--but they said they're bringing Ed and Al home and we need to create a diversion so that the rest of the military doesn't catch them!"

Whatever response she'd expected wasn't the one she received. After a second of unblinking examination, Dominic turned his back and headed for the workshop. "We've got customers waiting for their automail."

It was a good thing Paninya was hanging on to her arm because Winry was prepared to wing the first tool she saw at the man's head.

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"That was Heist," Reilly said as she closed the phone. "She was freaking out about her laptop--"

"Figures," Tom grumbled, as he gripped the wheel of the Ninjavan tightly and negotiated the rutted cowpath as quickly as he could -- which was only about a mile or two per hour faster than normal. "We're about to get surrounded by Men in Black, and she's worried about her toys."

"She also said that a whole line of black sedans with super-dark windows just stormed past them on the highway," Reilly finished, undeterred.

"That would be the Feds," Tom murmured.

"That would be my guess, too. The good news is, we should be able to hit that service road across the highway before we get into their line of sight."

Instead of speeding up, however, Tom slowed the van to a stop and threw it into park.

Reilly gasped and darted furtive glances out the windows all around them. "What? Where are they?" she demanded as she twisted around in the seat to peer into the trees behind them. A warm grip on her arm pulled her back into the seat and she faced Tom. Something wasn't right. "What is it?" she asked, an edge of panic raising her voice.

"What are we running for?"

**__________**

Ducky winced in expectation.

"What do you mean, it isn't the right time?" Ed yelled, patience finally exhausted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's not the right moment yet," Al repeated. "There's something we have to wait for."

Ducky expected a major explosion, and from the tightness in Ed's jaw and the clenching of his fists, it was building, and almost ready to blow. But the elder brother hesitated, frowning in bewilderment at Al, who still sat gazing at the silent raven.

"Alphonse," he said. "You're not trying to say..."

"We have to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"I don't know."

"How do you even know we have to wait?"

Al made no answer, but just turned and looked up at him.

Hughes passed a hand across his eyes. "Oh boy," he muttered.

Ed's face went still. His eyes flickered toward the raven, and back to his brother. Watching the color flood his face, Ducky could almost see the lava rising in his veins as his inner volcano prepared to erupt. "You," Ed said succinctly, "are completely out of your mind."

"No I'm not-–"

"If you think," Ed plunged on, his voice rising in both volume and strength, "that I am going to stand here quietly and let some uniformed goons blow my brains out because you believe some... some _damned bird_-–" he pointed an accusing finger at it "–-is telling you to wait here, you are _completely out of your mind!_"

Al, with a calm that contrasted sharply with his brother's temper, smoothly came to his feet. "Ed." He didn't raise his voice, didn't make any other move at all. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, what kind of a stupid question is-–"

"I mean it, Ed. Do you trust me _right this minute?_"

**__________**

Reilly stared at Tom a moment, certain the stress had finally gotten to him, and jabbed a finger at the windshield. "Hello? Men in Black? Gitmo? Alien Autopsy-type shit? I kinda wanna keep my skin whole, _thankyouverymuch_."

He tilted his head, thoughtful. "Yeah but... what's going to happen if we get away today?"

"Uh... we _live?_"

Tom focused on her once more and cocked a brow. "And we keep running. Why? For how long? The rest of our lives? What's the point?"

A chill snaked down Reilly's spine and curled up tightly in her belly. Striking quickly, she snagged his collar and tried to yank him out of the seat as she levered herself up, fully intending to take control of the van and get them safe. "Dammit, Tom, this ain't 'High Noon' and you sure as fuck ain't John Wayne! Get... out... of the... _**way**_!" But he'd gone limp and she couldn't drag him from the seat. Not willing to give up, she wedged herself over to the driver's side, but only managed to get her legs tangled in his and fell against the doghouse, cracking her head against the roof and whacking her shoulder painfully against the mirror. Rubbing her head and trying to stop the speckles behind her eyes from blinding her, she paused -- and that was when she heard the choked laughter from Tom. "Dear Goddess, you've gone completely around the bend."

Tom wiped his eyes and pried her fingers from his collar. Getting his bizarre humour under control and himself back in the seat, he shook his head and said, "Hardly. And no, I don't have a death wish."

"Then what in the hell are you talking about?!"

"Heist has Llyn, and hiding one slip of a girl is going to be a hell of a lot easier than finding a safe place for me and you--"

"Get to the point, Old Man," Reilly snapped.

"We don't have shit left here," Tom said. "And everyone else who matters is back there," he said as he jerked a thumb behind them.

Reilly stared as his point slowly sank needle-sharp teeth into her mind. "You can't be serious," she whispered, but even she couldn't ignore the hopeful excitement that bloomed in her heart.

His expression went soft as he reached up to cup her cheek. "How much longer can you keep running, Mary? When will it finally be too much for you?"

Her heart pounded and she started to shake. It was already becoming more than she could bear, and if she was honest with herself, she knew what Tom _wasn't_ saying was more truth than speculation... that if they stayed here, they would _never_ stop running and hiding. Not now, not with what they knew -- what they'd seen. "Not without you," she murmured.

"Hell no. We've always been a team," he said, smiling. "Besides, Amestris needs protection from the Ducklord."

Reilly sniffled and barked out a short laugh, then disentangled herself from Tom and flopped back into the passenger seat. As she snapped her seatbelt on, she said, "We'd better get a move-on, then--"

"Uh-oh," Tom muttered.

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**  
"Didn't you hear what I said?"

Hunched down over a box in the corner of the room, Dominic rattled his tools and boxes of spare parts. "I heard you. Heck, half the block heard you. What I didn't hear was whether or not you brought back a muffin for me."

A muff...? That's it, Winry thought. The man was dead.

Then Dominic sighed, dropping a scavenged metal limb back into the box. "Exactly how large of a diversion does your friend the General need?"

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**  
Ducky's heart sank. How many times, he wondered, could Ed take a body blow like this in a 24-hour period, and not break? Ed hadn't moved, yet Ducky could sense that Al's question had rocked him to the core.

He inched closer to Hughes and held his breath, both of them watching the brothers, who stood like statues, staring at each other as the feeling of impending doom grew more oppressive and their enemies drew closer. He could only guess at the details of the long personal history that had led Al to ask the question, and led his brother to hear it with such trepidation. All their years together, all the travels, the adventures... the rescues. _'I'll get us out of this somehow. Don't worry,'_ Ed had said. Could he ever relinquish control, ever truly allow himself to place his destiny completely in another's hands? Even Al's?

Alphonse smiled gently. And Ed closed his eyes, letting his breath out in a long sigh.

When he opened them again, he smiled widely, his golden eyes shining with a kind of reckless joy. "Yes," he said. "I trust you completely, Al. I trust you with my life." He turned to Ducky and Hughes. "So," he said. "We wait till Al knows it's the right time."

There was a snap of a branch -- like an explosion in the quiet of the clearing -- and Ducky whipped around toward the sound only to find his view blocked by the barrel of a cannon inches from his nose. As he uncrossed his eyes and was able to look beyond the large caliber handgun aimed at him, he saw they were surrounded by agents in black body armor.

"You're gonna have a nice long wait," someone said. It was hard to tell from whence it came -- the full-face helmets hid faces and distorted sound. "Put your hands up and don't make any sudden moves."

**__________**

"This would be one flight we don't want to mi--" Reilly broke off as she glanced up and felt her stomach drop with a splat down at her feet. "_Sonuvabitch_!"

Skidding off the highway and bouncing down the rutted path right at them were three black sedans with dark, smoked windows.

"I only count three. We couldn't be so lucky to think Tanner delayed the others, do you?" Reilly asked as she unsnapped her seatbelt.

"With you in the mix?" Tom sniped as he threw the van into reverse and floored the accelerator. "Might wanna hit the floor, kiddo."

Reilly didn't respond to the comment. Instead she flipped him a one-fingered salute and slid down below the dash. "What about you?"

Tom slouched down as he steered with one hand and watched out through the back. With his free hand, he pushed Reilly's head down further. "I've always been a hard target to hit, just stay down, will ya?"

"I _am_ down, asshole!"

"Gary Cooper, by the way."

"_**What?!**_"

Tom spared a quick glance her way and smirked. "It wasn't John Wayne in 'High Noon', it was Gary Cooper."

"Like I give a shit right now?!"

Something small punched through the windshield and buried itself into the roof near the back seat of the van and Reilly squeaked, curling up on the floor and covering her head with her arms. She peeked up and said, "You all right?"

"Shit no," Tom snarked. "I've spent the last five months running with a sporadic psychic, an insane hacker and a hyper techno-geek trying to protect two alchemists and a manic intelligence officer who came from another world from a sociopathic assassin with a nasty grudge, whom, I might add, is _also_ from this alternate world, and likes to make things go boom. Which, if any psychiatrist worth his sheepskin heard this, would consider it a good reason to lock me up in a padded cell. Let's not forget the the spiritual, flute-playing special ops guy who followed us around -- unbeknownst to me -- invisible portals to alternate worlds, flames being manipulated by music--"

"Were you _hit_, though?"

"Wha--? Oh, no. I'm fine."

"Then worry about driving," Reilly said as she rolled her eyes and started to squeeze between the seats and crawl toward the back, "you can vent your spleen later."

"I have not yet begun to ve--" Another shot broke through the windshield, ripped through the driver's seat and embedded itself in the seat behind it in a puff of fiberfill. "Damn, that was close," Tom said. "Reilly, what are you doing?"

"Looking for something we can use to slow them down."

"Like what? A Rubik's Cube? I don't think they'll be distracted that easily."

"--_ARRGGGHHHH!_"

"What?!" Tom hollered. "Were you hit?"

"No!" Reilly flopped on her ass on the floor of the van and buried her face in her hands. "That... _asshole!_ Of all the times to--" She glanced up at Tom, not sure if she should laugh or cry. "Ducky _cleaned_ the goddamned Ninjavan!"

"Good God, it really _is_ the Apocalypse," Tom said, with an edge of hysterical laughter in his voice. Then another shot came through the windshield and joined the previous one in the seat behind him. When he stopped turtling, he cocked a wry brow and said, "At least they're consistent. Hold on."

Tom cranked the wheel violently and the van teetered as it turned a hard right before it came to an abrupt stop and settled back down with a rough thump on all four tires.

Reilly didn't need to be told what to do next. Lurching up and leaning over the seat, she grabbed the handle for the side door and threw it open. "Get in!" she shouted to the four stunned faces turned in her direction...

It was only when they didn't move that she realized they were all lined up with their hands clasped behind their heads -- surrounded by Storm Troopers in body armor pointing really big guns at their heads.

"Get out of the van," a voice behind a masked helmet ordered. "Keep your hands where we can see them, and no one will get hurt."

She heard Tom mutter, as he opened the driver's door, "Damned Reilly luck."

...Then the ground rumbled low, as if in agreement.


	45. Ch 30b Okay, Who Forgot the Flux Capacit

**"Okay, Who Forgot the Flux Capacitor?"  
Arc One: Chapter 30  
Balance of Power**

**Part Two**

**WARNING: Post Series, Post Movie, **SPOILER HEAVY** and just a bit AU **

**September 5, 2006 Rush Valley, Amestris**

The hardest part was making certain Paninya would be safe after the fact. Getting volunteers together actually proved to be the least difficult part of the process. Winry looked out over the gathered-- well, they looked like a rather grease-spattered mob --and gave her head a sharp shake. She should have known better. Of any community of people, automail mechanics, though fiercely competitive, were also bound together by their craft. The moment the word went out that a rescue operation was underway -- to bring back a long-lost hero, no less (not to mention a famous walking endorsement for automail) they converged in droves. Dozens of eager recruits packed into the small courtyard behind Dominic's shop to hear the explanation of what needed to be done.

Winry presented the initial idea, whereupon Dominic himself took over hammering out the details and assigning teams and jobs. The master mechanic sent two teams running back to their own shops for tools -- and some innocent household things that according to Armstrong and Mustang could be used for not-so-innocent purposes.

The scavengers came hurrying back with boxes and bags and knapsacks. Winry found herself carrying someone's grocery bag, loaded with decidedly non-grocery items, and bustling along with a chattering, cheerful group of ladies twice her age. The conversation was trivial and they passed along familiar, mundane streets on an errand that was anything but mundane. If Roy was right _(oh __**please**__ don't be lying about this, Roy!)_ then there might not be another opportunity like this. Ever.

One hour. Just one hour and she could be seeing Ed and Al... Winry hugged her arms around the heavy grocery bag and boosted it higher.

Would they have changed much? Would Ed be taller? Would Al? She mentally slapped herself for the silliness of her question. Of course they'd be taller -- she'd calculated the rate of Ed's growth years ago. She even had a chart -- though that wasn't something the height-sensitive alchemist needed to know anything about.

Her eyes were blurring as she walked rapidly towards her destination. She wiped away the threatening tears before they could give her away.

One more hour...

The crowds thinned quickly -- reduced to nothing after a few more turns. Five more minutes of walking and they were there.

Winry looked up... and up... and up... The ancient structure was massive.

Over a hundred years ago, before Rush Valley had become the haven for individual mechanics and artisans, there had been an attempt at unifying the makers of automail under a strict consortium. The ruling aristocracy of the time had intended to reserve automail for themselves and their loyal armies. Backed by inherited wealth, the proponents for the plan went ahead and erected a massive warehouse in hopes of gathering up all of the automail mechanics and their shops, and walling them off, permitting access only to those with either the money to pay the exorbitant gate fees or the favor of some duke or petty king who'd trade power for a new arm or leg for his lackey. Unfortunately for the plan, the elite hadn't counted on the reaction of the automail mechanics. History recorded it as the "Craftsmen's Revolt" of 1628, and credited the infuriated mechanics with the founding of multiple anti-monarchist movements that eventually brought down the old kingdom and opened up the modern era, with its loosely-defined social classes, widespread literacy... and automail offered to anyone who wanted to endure the surgery and pay the mechanic's price. The warehouse, built to hold ready-made arms and legs and house the men who installed them, had been stripped of its enormous, studded steel doors, and emblazoned with the words of a nobleman. "My lords, my brothers, you have forgotten that the common man will forgive anything but to be taken for granted." Winry knew the story -- she glanced over the words without really seeing them, until her eyes caught on the nobleman's name. _Duke Robert of Aramtrea, called the Strong Arm. I wonder if he wore a blond handlebar moustache?_

Rubbing absently at her stomach, Paninya squinted up at the crumbling facade. "Guess you could say we're killing two birds with one stone," she said brightly.

Winry glanced at her friend, smiling. "A distraction and a demolition... I suppose you're right."

And there was no time to waste.

People scattered. Charges were laid out with the precise care of an automail engineer designing the layout of nerves and pistons for a new hand. The building was a decaying ruin and the explosives were homemade from household cleaners and bits of wire. Professionals would have taken days just to survey the building and decide where to put their charges.

The civilian bomb team finished in less than an hour.

One of the mechanics, an explosives expert and former military, wrapped the wires for the different floors. This ate up another ten minutes in which Winry was hard pressed not to chew her nails.

"We're ready."

As each team completed their assigned tasks, they melted away in small groups of one or two or three, blending into the general bustle of the city, but remaining nearby. Eventually only three people remained -- Dominic, the demolitions expert with the controls, and herself -- hidden in the deep shade of the back surrounding wall. They were far enough away to be safe, but close enough to move quickly if they needed to -- their fingers crossed. Waiting.

**__________**

Time. It was finally time. Roy felt the details of their carefully laid-out plan dimming in significance. He didn't understand where it was coming from, but a calmness washed over him, strengthening with every step. A calm, Roy noted after a quick glance around, that the other three weren't feeling.

He shoved his left hand into his pants pocket and fingered the battered watch he'd placed in there that morning. "Send the signal."

He heard the shots, and felt the earth rumble warningly as if in answer.

**__________**

The _crack_ of Havoc's pistol firing echoed from the depths of the city, followed by two rapid shots, one right after another, from Hawkeye.

From the corner of the compound -- unseen by any casual passerby, particularly soldiers on patrol -- Dominic nodded to the man crouched in the dirt next to him.

"Do it."

The mechanic grinned and pressed down the bar.

**__________**

Roy felt it deep in his gut a split second before they heard it, a spike of adrenaline pushed through his system as the sounds of an explosion echoed distantly through the alley. Memories momentarily churned through his thoughts. Ishbal and fire, the rocking of the earth and the sound of rubble clattering down from the sky. Whatever had just exploded had been fairly substantial. With equal certainty he knew that this was Winry's diversion.

Paninya's long shot idea had come in a winner.

"We're not gonna have to arrest her after all this, are we?" Jean called from his spot, backing away slightly from the alley's entrance as people started filling the street, seeking out the source of the commotion.

"We'll let the locals take care of the aftermath," Roy replied. He crouched at the edge of the array and waved a hand at Armstrong to step away from it. Easing his right arm out of the sling, he took a deep breath and ticked off the seconds for the precious window of cover Winry had created for them to arrive. Every nerve tingled with anticipation as he waited for the rippling aftershock that should be following any moment now...

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

Ed heard his brother draw in a sharp breath, and glanced over to see a grim determination settle across Al's features. Mental alarms wailing, _this was it,_ Ed moved as one with Al while the ground below their feet shivered like it, too, knew the moment had come.

Al reached for his flute even as Ed grabbed him and pulled him down. The whole area began quaking before the agents could react to their suddenly shifting targets. There wasn't time to shoot when they were struggling to just stay upright, and Ed had enough presence of mind to shout to the others to take cover. That came in the form of the van, which Ed watched with relief as Reilly and Tom dove back inside. Hughes rushed towards the agent positioned between them and the van, taking him out with icy efficiency before rounding on the next one. Ducky reacted to the initial tremor like an invisible rug had been yanked from under his feet and he pinwheeled wildly trying to balance. Regaining as much footing as he could, Ducky spun, to Ed's horror, back towards him instead of the van.

"Shut up, I told you I'm coming with you!" Ducky preempted the tirade that was on the tip of Ed's tongue. "What do I need to do?"

Together they glanced down at Al, who had already pressed the flute to his lips and begun the first tentative notes. The tune warbled in time with the shaking ground, but it was short-lived as Al pulled back sharply and frowned. "Right time, wrong place."

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

Rocks and other debris continued to trickle down over Paninya's awkwardly curled form. In spite of the cleverly constructed shelter of what appeared to be randomly collapsed beams, she wasn't completely confident in this plan now that her role had been enacted. Playing the distressed victim was _so_ not her thing, and she had no one to complain about it to but herself.

"Brilliant idea girl. Maybe you should have added a broken leg to make it more realistic." The muttered sarcasm carried a small shake as another cluster of tremors rumbled through the demolished structure. Closing her lids both in anxiety as well as to keep the floating grit off her eyes, she curled one arm around her belly as she tried to readjust. Of all the times to be emotional. If there wasn't so much work to do around here, Paninya would have gladly given in to the urge to smash a metal fist through the beam beside her. Of course, that would probably cause the partial collapse to become a full collapse. Not a good idea.

Another tremor tore past deep within the earth below, and the young woman grasped two support beams in her hands. "Get me out of here!" No need to fake distress, she was pretty sure she was about to be flattened into a very unappetizing pancake. Still no audible sounds from outside, she could only hope the so-called 'rescue party' had done their job in stirring the military into getting their armor clad butts over here.

**__________**

The ground rumbled with more force than could be attributed to the explosion Roy had heard earlier, and before he could brace himself, it intensified further. He heard Armstrong's offer of support too late, felt his feet scrabble against the trembling ground for balance, then he landed on his back, his right arm bouncing off a wall that was sprouting more cracks as the ground beneath it rippled. A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips even as he clutched at his throbbing arm to keep it from getting jarred further. Any lingering doubts that this wasn't going to work evaporated as the ground continued to shake beneath him.

"Sir!" Armstrong's voice caught the attention of Riza and Jean and they abandoned their posts to pick their way towards the array, steadying themselves along the building's walls. Roy struggled to right himself, paused when he realized he wouldn't reposition himself in time, and caught the larger alchemist's gaze.

With a pang of regret that still didn't overshadow the feeling of rightness, Roy yelled over the ever-strengthening chaos, "You've got to open it!"

"Yes, sir," Armstrong replied, immediately dropping to one knee.

"Not yet!" Roy ordered before the man's hands had reached the circle. "Wait for it..."

"Wait for what?!" Jean hollered just to be heard as he and Riza arrived simultaneously on either side of Roy. "We need to get out of here!"

"Hold on..."

"Don't be an ass," Riza yelled, tugging at his good shoulder with all the strength she dared to keep them both from toppling over.

"I'm not--" Roy stopped mid-protest and closed his eye. The alley and the array, Alex, Riza and Jean, even the trembling ground seemed to fade away. He felt more than saw the Elrics -- _they were so close_ -- Ed's watch dug into his thigh, and a suffocating curtain of dread, of imminent danger for the boys, dropped over him.

_"Now!"_

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"Wrong place?!" Ed shouted, more to be heard over the rumbling of the ground and the mayhem of the agents. "What the hell do you mean? I thought we'd pinpointed it."

Al lurched to his feet, helping his brother up, and as he stumbled past, grabbed Ducky by the arm with his other hand. "It's not like finding a Gate is an _exact_ science, Brother. We're close, just off by a little bit."

The earth chose that moment to become quiet and the three young men found themselves quickly surrounded by goons with guns trained on them. A brief glance past the shoulder of the agent directly in front of Al gave him a view of Reilly about to leap from the side-door of the van, but Tom and Hughes each grasped a shoulder to hold her back -- not that she could have gone anywhere; half the feds were pointing weapons at them, as well. He heard the hammer of a gun being cocked with a resounding click, and he, Ed and Ducky all raised their hands. Al's gaze slid to his left, meeting the hardened gold of his brother's, then came forward -- once again past the agent in front of him -- and locked onto the stares of both Hughes and Tom. He saw the subtle shift in both of them, and knew they were reading everything just as he was.

The raven settled quietly on the roof of the Ninjavan, ruffled his feathers once, then became perfectly still.

A woman in a dark suit, with a pale, flawless complexion and even lighter blonde hair came around the van. "I think it's time to stop this foolishness," she said. "You're not going anywhere, but back to headquarters with us." She stopped just outside the ring of agents and centered her attention directly on Ed. "You're well and thoroughly caught." Gesturing behind her, she added, "If you don't want your friends to be disposed of, I'd advise you two boys to cooperate."

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

The moment Armstrong's hands touched the edge of the chalk line, the rumbling ceased and the array flared to life. "Yes," Roy breathed, watching the pale yellow light illuminate the alley as it expanded to fill every last arc and rune. He allowed Riza to help him up without looking away.

Behind him, Jean whistled low. "Boss, I really think we should consider relocating..."

Roy dragged his attention away from the array and followed Jean's gaze up. The cracks in the alley's buildings had widened considerably, and even he had to admit that some areas looked decidedly unstable.

"Sir," Armstrong questioned from his spot on the ground, "is this... I don't know what...."

"You're doing fine, just keep the connection open," Roy assured him, though he could see the doubt hiding beneath the faint twitch of mustache. He refrained from acknowledging what Alex was offering. If he had to -- if the other alchemist couldn't hold it alone, he'd risk it. For Ed and Al's sake -- even for Winry's -- he'd try and join an active transmutation being held by a man that he respected but had never even tried sharing an array with. It wasn't the sort of thing one did lightly. Honing the ability to perform alchemy in the first place took such a solitary, personal investment; joint transmutations were usually saved for teaching purposes in only the earliest parts of a student's training. Finding two alchemists who were both temperamentally compatible and strong enough to support each other in a single successful transmutation at any level of complexity... well, the Amestrian military would have found a way to make shared arrays part of the State Alchemist's job, if it weren't for the demonstrated risks. Roy had no desire to spend the rest of his life a drooling vegetable.

He shook his head once, "Too late for that now."

"But how will I know that it's working?"

As if waiting for Armstrong's cue, a faint tremor shuddered underfoot, much gentler than the previous onslaught. They waited for it to die out, but it remained, and slowly began strengthening...

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

Al felt more than saw Ed's weight shift, just a fraction. His brother said nothing, and made no move beyond the slight brush of his automail hand across Al's, which told him Ed was ready for a real fight. Those who didn't know Ed very well were intimidated by his tendency to scream and pound on whatever was handy when frustrated -- but Ed wasn't actually dangerous as long as he was still yelling. _It's the silence you have to fear,_ Izumi had taught them. _Animal and man alike stalk and kill in silence._

Al didn't need to fake his trepidation -- if anyone moved just wrong, this could end horribly -- and he hoped that the woman in front of him read his grasping of Ed's sleeve and Ducky's arm as an instinctive move toward comfort. Al was, after all, the youngest among them. With a defeated sigh, he sagged, pulling on Ed's sleeve a little before letting go, and tightening on Ducky's arm. _Okay, Brother. No rules._

Then the ground started to tremble again, and all hell broke loose.

Al dug his fingers into Ducky's bicep, twisted, and threw the squawking hacker into the nearest agent, hurling both to the dirt in a tangle of arms and legs. He continued his turn, using his left leg as a counterweight, and slammed it into the weapon hand of the agent who was still watching Ducky scuffle in the dirt. Al heard the crunch of bone and figured at least two fingers were broken, but he had no more time to contemplate it as two more agents came at him from opposite directions.

**~*~*~*~**

At the same second Al threw Ducky, Ed launched himself forward and delivered a right-handed jab with a metal fist. The shock of impact stung hard in Ed's shoulder, but the punch shattered the agent's face shield and crushed the nose behind it. The sound of breaking bone and the cries of the agents weren't something Ed enjoyed, but these bullies had forced him and his brother into a corner. Ed threw a kick that broke a breastbone and sent a man down, probably with a punctured lung, then snapped his body aside and used the oncoming attacker's momentum against him, slamming him into the heavy rear doors of the van. "You guys want to fight? All right, I'll show you how we fight where I come from!"

**~*~*~*~**

Al heard the hiss of air before he caught the glint of edged steel. Maes Hughes' green eyes shone cold and hard for an instant, then he was gone as Al reflexively twisted and caught a charging man with a knee in the stomach. He heard the sound of metal buckling as he spun, glimpsed Tom slamming someone against the vehicle with enough force to dent the side, then wrench the agent's arm back hard enough to tear ligaments and tendons. Al twisted and jammed the fingers of his right hand into the exposed throat of a body lunging at him, gun lost who-knew-where, claw-like hands poised to grab. The agent lurched back, stunned, coughing and gasping for breath in a panic as he stumbled onto Ducky. The hacker, who'd just disentangled himself from the first agent, yelped and went down again.

Ducky shoved the dead-weight off and glared at Al, who had just enough time to shrug a half-hearted apology. Then Ducky's eyes widened and gave Al just enough warning to skip aside as a gun fired and the bullet rang off the van's dented side. Edward, his face contorted in a feral snarl, came down on the shooter's shoulders an instant later, and Al knew with a sick certainty that the man was dead before he hit the ground.

**~*~*~*~**

Reilly heard a high squeak as another man with a gun charged the driver's door of the van, and belatedly realized that she'd been the one to utter it. Someone moved into the gunman's path, shoved a fist in his gut -- and he fell, stumbling against the door. Hughes pulled the blade clenched between his fingers out of the man's body, took a step forward and slammed the bloodied blade into someone else. Not five feet away, Al -- gentle, sweet Alphonse -- kicked a masked man in the face and calmly turned, catching another man by the arm and throwing him down. The younger Elric dropped to a knee for a second, punched the downed man in the throat, then bounced up in time to catch his brother's right foot at just the right instant to throw Edward into an acrobatic move that left an afterimage on Reilly's retinas of flying blond hair hanging upside down well above the level of the van's roof. Tom lurched into view, and the hold he had on his enemy-- Reilly heard a shriek -- again her own. Tom glanced at the van, and frowned. His mouth opened, and Reilly wasn't sure whether she heard him or just read his face. Either way, the words were "Get _down_ girl!" Some part of her realized that that was a very good idea.

**~*~*~*~**

The ground continued its muted rumble as the five men stood in a loose circle amid black-clad bodies: panting, bruised, scraped, battered and splattered with blood -- some their own, most of it not -- with the blonde agent in the middle. Her cool exterior had melted to reveal a terrified, bewildered human woman. To her credit, she kept trying to bring the world back under her control. She aimed her gun with shaking hands at first one, then another of the men surrounding her. She pivoted around and pointed her gun at Ed. "Y-you're coming with me."

"I don't think so," Ed said, evenly.

Hughes took a step, and she twisted, the gun targeting him. "Stay back!" Keeping Hughes in her gaze, she snapped her left arm out to the side, at Ed once again. "Another step and I'll kill him right here."

"I thought your orders were to take us alive," Ed said. His voice was low, and dangerously level.

She glared at him, then. "They are. But you're far too dangerous." She cocked the hammer back on the gun. "My primary objective is the safety and protection of this country." She steadied a little, and wiped at the sweat rolling into her eyes with her free hand. "You're not even entirely human. I don't know what you are or where you came from, but..." She trailed off, searching for something that made sense, something that would fit. "I-I can't take the risk."

She was focused on Ed, and neither Al nor Hughes had given her the least cue -- so the tap on her shoulder startled her and she spun -- only to be met with the full force of Ducky's fist. The gun hit the ground as her eyes rolled up and she landed with a soft thump in the dirt. The fierce anger on the normally good-natured hacker's face brought the Elric legacy into sharp relief, as he leaned over the dazed woman and ground out, "No one messes with my family... _bitch._"

The van's engine roared to life, startling the raven. Hughes and Tom dove in through the side door when Reilly kicked it into gear and spun the tires. One agent had managed to get to his feet -- one arm hanging limply at his side, the other stretched out and pointing a gun at the windshield -- only to be clipped by the corner of the van as Reilly aimed it at the array. She didn't stop as first Ed, then Ducky dove in -- even sped up as Al leapt inside. She never braked as she spun the wheel, fishtailed, and charged through the trees, wrestling the wheel to keep control in the wild woods and uncertain terrain that shifted and bucked with the quaking.

"Where the hell are you going, ya old hag?!" Ed screamed as she mowed down rangy bushes and tall weeds, barely avoiding a tree that was right in the path. "We've got to get to the Gate!"

She barely glanced into the rear-view mirror and asked, "Al, was he hit in the head out there?"

"No, but he's seen the business end of a wrench more than once," Al said as he yanked his brother down into the back seat, aided by the rough terrain. When Ed started to sputter, Al calmly said, "Just shut up for a minute Ed, and let me play. Miss Reilly knows where to go."

Dawn broke across Ed's flushed face, and Al saw him remember that Reilly could 'feel' the Gates.

"Oh. Oh yeah." Ed lurched back up and hung over the back of the seat in front of him, over Ducky's shoulder. Hughes grabbed his right shoulder to push him back, and Ed actually gave a little, his face going white. Still, with the fight over, he reverted to normal and harangued Reilly. "You crazy old bat! Why the fuck didn't you say something earlier?!"

"My theories are bullshit, remember?" Reilly responded through her teeth. She drove with hands clamped like vises to the wheel.

"Just sit down, Ed," Hughes told him, shifting his grip and pulling him back. Ed let out what might have been a huff of impatience, had it not been for the tensing of his back and shoulders.

The van hit a bump that threw it into a moment's free flight, then slammed it back down into the underbrush with a jarring crunch that yanked him up into the roof, then threw him back into his seat next to his brother. Al snickered and said, "See? Even the earth wants you to sit down, Brother."

Ed scowled and rubbed his head, then pointed at the flute in Al's hand. "Just play, already."

Al giggled again, took a deep breath, then began. This time, the music came effortlessly as the notes wove through the fabric of reality, stitching a tapestry that reached somewhere deep into the incorporeal realm of otherwhere.

Answering his call, the tremors increased and the forest was instantly alight with a warm yellow glow. Reilly spun the wheel violently, nearly tipping the van over and tossing most of the passengers around like salad greens as she fought to keep the vehicle upright in the increasing temblors and headed for the source of the light. The tune Al played warbled and only briefly hesitated as he fell into his brother, but nothing could yank him from the thrall of the music that spoke to the Gate.

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

"Do you hear that?" Roy asked.

"The rumbling, yeah," Jean replied with a snort. "Kinda feel it, too--"

"No... the music," Roy exhaled, bringing stares from Jean and Riza as they came to the realization, not for the first time, that their superior tended to pick the worst moments to go insane.

And with a sickening crack that everyone _did_ hear, the buildings around them began to fall.

Roy didn't think; he _moved_. Across the array, Armstrong did the same. Dropping down to his knees and ignoring his protesting right arm, Roy slammed his hands on the chalk line at the precise moment Armstrong released his own hold. Amidst the rush of energy that coursed through his system and whipped at his hair, he saw Strong Arm stand with a fluid motion born from a lifetime of practice, one hand dipping into a pocket to emerge encased in a metal gauntlet.

As Alex rammed his fist into the closest wall in an attempt to protect them from the falling debris, Roy had an instant to worry about two powerful transmutations in the same place at the same time. The thought was quickly forgotten as he struggled to rein in the energy surging through the array. It had destabilized in that instant of changeover... no, it hadn't, Roy realized as he fought to bring the sheer power under control. It hadn't destabilized; it had just grown exponentially stronger.

The ground outside the circle cracked and heaved, and Roy took one last glance around before closing his eye to all visual distractions. His last image before completely surrendering to the force of the transmutation was that of a ring of columns Armstrong had created to reinforce the buildings. They all bore a striking resemblance to their creator, straight down to the bald scalp and chiseled (literally) physique.

_Well,_ Roy thought, allowing himself a moment of amusement, _at least we don't have to decorate for the homecoming party._

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"Ohshitohshitohshit!" Reilly shrieked, as the Ninjavan burst out of the woods into a clearing. She planted both feet on the brakes to bring the vehicle to a skidding stop amid complaints from the jostled passengers, then stared gape-jawed _up_ through the windshield as a vary large shadow passed overhead.

"Damn," Tom muttered, craning his neck to gaze after what had caused the shadow, and both Hughes and Ducky were up, leaning over the front seats, following suit.

Ed left Al playing as he squeezed between the center seats and irritably elbowed his way through the press of bodies in the tight space, practically crawling up on the doghouse to see what the fuss was all about. "This isn't the time to be sight--" His protest died on his lips as he saw the helicopter hovering overhead -- just out of range of a golden whirlwind whipping the trees in front of them. "Don't these idiots know when to give up?" he asked no one in particular. As he watched the helicopter clawing for position above, he pointed forward and said, "So just go! They can't stop us now."

"Go... _where_?" Reilly stammered, staring straight ahead.

Ed levered himself up more and leaned forward. That was when he saw it. "God_dammit_!" he exploded as he pounded his metal fist into the dash, cracking it in the process. Reilly had stopped barely in time to avoid launching the Ninjavan over the edge of a ravine that looked to be about 50 feet deep and at least twice as wide. And hovering horizontally within that vast empty space, was the Gate.

They saw the muzzle flash from the chopper just before they heard the report and ducked simultaneously as bullets peppered the ground around them and the roof of the van. Armor piercing rounds tore through the sheet metal, sending flakes of paint and fluff swirling into the already-battered interior. Reilly slammed the shifter into reverse and floored the gas, backing the van into the uncertain safety of the trees. Panicked and unable to see out the back, she yanked the wheel, and swerved into an enormous old oak with a deafening crunch and screech of metal. The tinkling of broken glass punctuated the silence.

Al's music had stopped.

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

A violent concussion heaved through the earth, threatening the swaying buildings. Nervous eyes rolled upward to scan the rocking structures. Armstrong's statuesque reinforcements seemed to be doing their jobs however, and the giant alchemist grunted in satisfaction as another tremor nearly threw him sprawling but didn't disturb his handiwork.

Nearly lost in the maelstrom of light and wind, Mustang crouched, sweat beading across his forehead as he battled to hold the roaring energies from exploding out uncontrolled. Even so, bursts of purple lightning and static discharge rocketed from the epicenter -- impacting against concrete facades and showering the plaza with rubble.

Three soldiers running toward the explosion at the edge of town skidded to a stop as they passed the mouth of the alleyway and gaped at the chaos within. In spite of the obvious danger, the soldiers had edged closer, drawn by the mesmerizing whirl of color and light. "Get back!" Alex bellowed as he caught sight of them, his voice harsh in the dust-filled air. At Armstrong's warning, the men retreated.

Turning back to the storm of power, Alex had no time to dodge as a finger of electricity whipped from the core and licked down his arm in a body shuddering surge. Teeth clamping, his limbs jerked before a force like a giant hammer smashed into his chest and drove him into the base of one hastily built statue.

The wind howled and drove the sand into a furious grinding whirlwind as Alex Louis Armstrong, Strongarm Alchemist and scion of one of Amestris' few remaining noble families, slid down the granite surface of a statue and shaded his eyes with one thick arm. His eyes picked out a huddled mass that might have been Havoc and Hawkeye, crouched and clinging to each other in animal, unreasoning terror.

No matter how he strained his eyes, he could not see any sign of Roy Mustang.

Up above, a pinpoint of shadowed light steadily began to grow.

Then another quake struck, and with a horrendous deep _**CRACK**_, the stone behind him began to move.

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

"AL!"

Reilly heard Ed's horrified cry from a long tunnel, and felt herself being pressed back against a soft surface. Warm hands brushed her hair from her face and she blinked. Something was in her eyes and her head hurt, but she couldn't comprehend why. And then she remembered: helicopters... a rain of bullets... trying to get out of the line of fire. She jerked upright, or tried.

"Easy, easy!" Tom's soothing voice broke through her panic. "You got yourself a nasty bump on the head, girl."

"Al!" she heard Ed choke somewhere behind her. "Al, talk to me, please? Wake up, dammit."

Reilly blinked again and was able to focus on Tom with one eye closed. "Wha...?"

Tom glanced up, past her right shoulder, and she could hear Ed fretting somewhere behind her. "So now what?" he asked.

Reilly gazed out through the windshield, at the burnished glow of the Gate in the ravine. Was the light growing dimmer?

"Whaddaya think, Tom? We gotta jump it, and we'd better do it quick," Ed snapped.

Reilly shook her head. "There's no way we can--"

"I can do it," Ducky said solemnly.

Reilly twisted around in her seat, the very idea shocking her system back into full awareness. "Are you nuts? We'll be killed!"

Maes Hughes had been crouching in the space between the middle seats, examining Al. Without turning, he said gravely, "We're all dead if we stay."

The ground rumbled and bucked, and they heard a loud crack and groan of the van-wrapped tree giving warning. "Whatever we're gonna do, we'd better do it now!" Ed shouted.

Ducky's hand came down on Reilly's shoulder as trembling fingers gripped it in an attempt at comfort. "I can do it. Trust me."

Reilly swallowed, then nodded. With help from Tom, she relinquished the driver's seat to the hacker. She settled into the middle seat as Tom took the one next to her. Ducky was without a co-pilot, as Maes shifted and wedged himself against the street-side wall of the van and wrapped around Ed, who cradled his unconscious brother in his arms.

Ducky pulled a pair of cheap sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. "It's 106 miles to Chicago," he said, shakily, as he turned the key to restart the van. Unfortunately, the engine merely whined and didn't catch. "We got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes," he continued as he tried again -- and again, the motor complained, but didn't come to life.

Tom peered through the window next to him, and said, "Uh, Ducks? Think you can just get this thing going?"

"I'm working on it! I'm working on it!"

"Now would be a good time," Tom insisted.

And that was when Reilly heard it... the sound of something breaking through the trees. Like some pissed-off, lumbering olive drab beast, the military-issue Hummer, complete with a wedged blade attached to the front, tore its way through, shouldering saplings to the ground and snapping bigger trees at the base. Then it burst onto clear terrain and it sped up, snarling as it charged for them. Tom leaned over and wrapped his arms around Reilly's head, blocking the view of her oncoming demise.

Then he fell on top of her in a screech of stressed and torn metal as the van teetered precariously on two wheels, tumbling both of them to the floor. Reilly held on to him for dear life as the van screamed and protested and fell back onto four tires -- and through the space between his side and arm, Reilly could see the side door shudder and buckle back as the Hummer reversed, readying for another run at them.

"Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail us now!" Ducky yelled over the din, and suddenly she could hear the strain of the Ninjavan's motor as he floored the accelerator, but the vehicle only spun its tires -- the back bumper was still wrapped around the tree.

...And the Hummer made another run at them, slamming into them, tilting them again. The impact broke hinges weakened from the wreck into the tree, but didn't succeed in flipping the van over. As the big green monster backed-up once more, Ducky crowed and the van lurched forward, leaving the back doors behind with an agonized scream that seemed almost alive, along with the bench and bits of litter and detritus. Then the tires grabbed, the Ninjavan gathered speed and barreled toward the rapidly dimming light of the portal.

Dimming... fading... disappearing so fast without Al able to play and keep the Gate open. Reilly knew they'd never make it. They'd plunge over the side into the abyss and that would be the end of it. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears escaping as she clung to the man who was more father to her than her own, and wondered if it was going to hurt when she died.

**__________**

**Rush Valley, Amestris**

He was _waiting._ Earth and air and power surged around him, rasped in his tortured lungs and burned every nerve in his body. But he had to outlast it, to fight the storm and the raging earth, for just a little longer. They were close, their closeness was all that mattered. They were coming home, and he would be waiting to greet them. Just a little longer.

Alchemic fire ripped up his spine, and he knew he didn't have much time.

**__________**

**Central Oklahoma**

No one spoke, which was just fine with Ducky, since he really didn't need a distraction as he concentrated on fighting his self-preservation instinct. He'd spared a glance over his shoulder when the van tore free of the tree, noticing that the box he'd welded to the floor at Redfeather's was the only thing that remained at the back -- the doors, the seat and any loose objects were gone. Hughes was wrapped around the Elric brothers, Ed holding Al tight against his chest. Reilly and Tom had wedged themselves between the remaining captain's chairs and the front seats, clinging to each other. They were all together, at least. With that, Ducky clenched his fingers around the wheel and kept his view straight ahead.

The engine complained, the ruined and loose side door rattled and banged against its twisted latch, the wind whistled through the bullet holes that had turned his cherished mechanical friend into Swiss cheese, and the helicopter tore at the air overhead. In the eerie timestretch of adrenaline-fueled clarity, Ducky wondered why the chopper wasn't firing on them, and why that monster Hummer wasn't giving chase, but the edge of the ravine was approaching, and that whirling, spinning light coming from the Gate floating in space was dimming from bright yellow-white, to gold, to orange, as the maelstrom in the center grew smaller and smaller, and he tried to push the accelerator down more, but it was already pressed against the floorboard and wasn't going any further. Ducky forced his eyes forward, refusing to glance down at the speedometer, because he feared if he did, he'd realize the van just wasn't going fast enough to make the jump and he'd chicken out.

Then with a stomach turning lurch, the tires lost the ground. The engine grumbled and hesitated and revved, then the van nosed over into a dive. The last thing Ducky saw before his eyes slammed shut was a blur of black feathers and claws as the raven batted his window, then dove into the rapidly constricting portal.

**The End...?**

**--Creative Credits--**

This project would not have been the huge amount of awesomeness that it was without the help of -several- people. Some are still active in the group, others have moved on, and still others are semi-active in a different capacity than before. All-in-all, this was the greatest, funniest, silliest, most insane group of people I have ever had the privilege to lose my mind with. Thank goodness it's not really over! Please give kudos and cyber cookies to --

**ladyamber** (Writer, Who insisted that this was a good idea) -- **aliasheist** (Writer, Who's creation of the vilest bad guy ever caused a plot to be dropped in our laps) -- **ladyeldaelen** (The sneakiest Writer/Artist of twisted fluff ever) -- **dragonnan** (Artist/Writer, who is also indescribably and delightfully insane) -- **nebroadwe** (The Writer/Editrix who wielded the Red Pen o'DOOM) -- **roaming_fool** (Writer, and the occasional Voice of Sanity among the nuts) -- **kashicat** (Writer, and Goddess of the tear-jerker) -- **mfelizandy** (Writer, who came in on the tail-end of the project, but will be sticking around for more!).

And then me: **fractured_chaos** (Head Story Coordinator and Writer). I can only sit back in awe when I contemplate just how wonderful it has been to be a part of this project, and I cannot take credit for much, really. The wonderful ladies listed above were the backbone, the blood, sweat, tears, heart and soul of this.

And **You**, our treasured readers who stuck with us through the delays, the stalls, and the really strange twists and turns. I bow to you, too.

Thank you,

**fractured_chaos** aka, Lorrie Harris - January 20, 2009

**--Announcement--**

"So there it ends, with a beat-up van plunging toward a collapsing Gate.

...or maybe not.

You didn't _really_ think we'd just leave it like that, did you?

So far, there's been gunplay, alchemical explosions, doppelgangers, automail-related mayhem, computerized geekery, and the revelation of what Ed _did_ while we weren't watching him.

We're now plotting Arc Two, **"Balance of Power:****Eden Gate".** At the moment, we've scheduled more computerized geekery, some character cameos, more explosions, quite a bit of traveling, more mayhem, bad puns (those are mostly my fault), and some ripoffs of the Indiana Jones movies. Then things _really_ start to get out of hand.

We've restructured and are going to be more organized about getting the next however-many chapters finished and posted. Again, we're going to keep this to mostly PG-13 with the occasional soft R scene (at least in the official story -- I make no promises about the crack-fic that will almost inevitably show up).

Where was I? Oh yes! We're also recruiting new writers. Qualifications include a high tolerance for deranged plots and fractured logic, willingness to take criticism and editing of your prose graciously (and the desire to return the favor), and an excellent command of English spelling, grammar, and punctuation. If you want a taste of what you'd be letting yourself in for, come visit us at our message boards (?) , which are now open to the public. (Well, except for the parts that would give away too much about the plot!) Want to get our attention? Draft us your idea of how the Mustang/Hughes reunion will go! Write up the scene in 3000 words or less (I know, that's hard, but we have to set a limit somewhere), then email it as an RTF-formatted attachment to **.com**. We'll pick the best entries and offer _up to_ five authors a spot on the writing team. **Deadline is March 1, 2009**. Happy writing, folks!" -- **mfelizandy**

**Oh, and if you want some idea of how convoluted things are going to get, go and check out ****Our Special Sneak Preview**** for "Balance of Power: Eden Gate"! :** **community . livejournal . com / c_b_s / 13021 . html**

**--Disclaimer--**

_**Fullmetal Alchemist (Hagane no Renkinjutsushi) was created by Arakawa Hiromu and is serialized monthly in Shonen Gangan (Square Enix). Copyright for this property is held by Arakawa Hiromu and Square Enix.**__ All Rights Reserved_


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